Mom's the Word
by DaisyDay
Summary: Michael Westen must use all his spy skills to protect his toughest client yet-his mother. In addition, he must also deal with his continual yearnings for Fiona. Looks like it's double trouble for Michael!
1. Chapter 1

(Most characters are part of the Burn Notice universe)

BURN NOTICE

MOM'S the Word

Chapter 1

With its palm trees swaying, warm tropical breezes, and pastel-colored art deco structures, the city of Miami was an intoxicating beautiful place to live.

When the air was humid, which was likely in Miami, the outside patio table of The Cantina was a great place to enjoy a cool beer.

That is what Sam Axe was thinking as he lifted his favorite drink in a gesture of a toast to his best buddy, Michael Westen, ex-spy. How they got to be best friends, one would never be able to figure out; for while one person was candid and laidback, the other individual appeared to be aloof and serious.

Yet both were very, very good at what they did.

"You have to admit, Mikey, this is the life," remarked Sam, as he downed the drink while ogling the shapely legs of the waitress as she walked away. There were already several emptied bottles on the table. He observed Mike, who seemed even more quiet and guarded than usual, "Eh…something on your mind?"

"Nothing a mission wouldn't cure," stated Michael in his usual no-nonsense way, "this sitting around not doing a thing is getting to me, Sam."

A slight breeze skimmed through Michael's carefully trimmed hair. However, despite his words, Michael _was _actually doing something. Wearing his traditional dark sunglasses, Michael appeared to be taking in the surrounding scenery, viewing all the beautiful, bikinied women that sauntered past him.

But appearances _can_ be deceptive, especially when you're an ex- spy.

As Michael casually took another swig of his beer, he was in actuality surveying the area for anything that seemed out of place, or anything that seemed too repetitive. A spy, especially a burned spy, must intuitively be on the lookout when he was out in the open.

Beneath the glasses, his eyes darted back and forth without his head ever moving. And then he saw something that gave him pause.

A black Cadillac.

It was the repetitiveness that made Michael suspicious. This was the fourth time he had seen this particular Cadillac. After the second time, he had discreetly memorized the license plate, which is how he knew it was the same vehicle. It had circled the block several times before parking in a spot near them.

Michael discreetly jerked his head in Sam's direction. Sam noted Mike's slight but purposeful turn and stopped mid-gulp.

"_What_?" Sam asked, suddenly alert.

"That black Cadillac across the street…it seems to be watching us."

Michael didn't need to add, "don't be obvious when looking at it." Ex-Navy SEAL Sam Axe was as good as Michael in any covert operation. Of course, whereas Mike was good at improvising electronic devices and neutralizing enemies with ease, Sam was good at utilizing his inexhaustible supply of contacts and his marksmanship with weapons.

"Jeez, Mikey, couldn't we just enjoy ourselves for once without wondering if someone was out to kill us?" Sam casually leaned back in his rattan café chair; drink in hand, also pretending to be watching the world go by, "sometimes I hate the spy life."

"Sam, it's what we signed up for," Mike stated calmly, watching to see if any further movement would be made by the Cadillac.

The black Cadillac stayed parked.

In the back of his mind, a glimmer of hope made Michael think that maybe he was being paranoid. The people inside the Cadillac could be doing something completely innocuous. Maybe some lost passengers were checking their map or maybe two lovers were looking for a spot to make- out. It was hard to ascertain what was going on inside the vehicle, what with the tinted windows and all. Unfortunately, in Michael's world, tinted windows were another suspicious sign.

At least there was no obvious activity occurring; so for now, they had nothing to worry about.

"Michael..."

A mature woman's low, raspy voice could be heard behind Michael's back. Michael stiffened for a second. He knew that voice. It was the voice that made men flinch in fear and retreat in terror, spies included.

The voice…the voice of a mother.

And not just any mother.

This time it was _his_ mother.

Madeline Weston.

His body showed no obvious reaction, but behind his sunglasses, Michael's eyes were opened wide in dismay.

_Now_ there was something to worry about.

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**_Hi! This is my first Burn Notice story and I am beyond excited! I just love all the characters on the show and tried to capture their personalities in what I hope is a fascinating story!_**

_All chapters will be fairly short, so it will be a fast read, although I plan to cram as much action as I can!_

_Please, please give me some encouragement and leave a review!_

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	2. Chapter 2

Michael and his new "client".

Chapter 2

Think of Miami and one thinks of frolicking the time away in the clear blue waters or dancing a sultry samba to the nightclub beat. For Michael Westen, world -traveling ex-spy, Miami conjured up images of going home to deal with his mother.

Oh, he loved his mom, he just wasn't sure if he always liked her. She now stood on the patio of The Cantina, watching her son.

Madeline Westen maneuvered around to face her son, hands on her waist, in an impatient gesture. Wearing a bright blue tunic with white polyester pants and matching dangling earrings, she always looked dressed for an all day shopping excursion at an outlet mall.

Michael could not believe his mother was here. This was supposed to be his private place away from…well, his mom. He equated it with the treehouse he had built when he was twelve. It was his private place high above the earth, away from prying eyes. Come to think of it, his mother had also invaded that territory, too.

"Ma, what a pleasure to see you here," he said in that spurious tone of his, while managing to smile at the same time.

"Knock it off, Michael," answered back Maddie gruffly, as she took an empty seat, "I know I am the last person you would want to see here."

Sam had just finished his last gulp of beer.

"Aww, Maddie, we're always pleased to see you!" Sam assured her, "Especially since you've just given us a reason to linger here longer…Waitress!"

When Sam had gained the waitress' attention, he indicated another round of beers by pointing his index finger down in a circular motion.

"Ma, is everything alright at home? Why are you here? Is the toaster oven on the fritz again?" When it concerned his mother, Michael wanted to know what the problem was, fix it, and then move on.

On reflection, that was his mantra regarding how he lived his life.

Madeline took out a cigarette from her purse, and tapped it on the table. She then went searching in her straw tote for the lighter. It was obvious she was going to be here a while. Michael tried not to show his chagrin at the idea. He took off his sunglasses and leaned back, knowing he would be here awhile. Finding the lighter, she looked back at her son.

"Michael, just because I am here doesn't mean I need something from you! Can't a mother just visit her son?" Madeline's eyes had a hurtful look as her round plastic earrings continued swinging, even when she had stopped talking.

Michael slightly turned his head, "Ma, most mothers don't casually drop by to visit their son at a bar. So just tell me what you want."

They exchanged stares, determined to out-wait one another. A sigh could be heard coming out of Madeline.

"Oh...alright... but only because you've _insisted_," she surrendered, making it seemed as if he forced it out of her, "I need your help, Michael. I want to hire you. For a job, a real job."

Michael and Sam exchanged cryptic glances at one another.

As if on cue, Sam stood up and with an authoritarian voice stated, "Whoa… I think a mojito is calling me from up at the bar...I'll see you two later." He acknowledged his departure to mother and son.

Michael and Madeline were now alone. Madeline lit the cigarette as Michael waved away the initial smoke.

His _mother _as a client? No, no, no! Michael's voice internally screamed at him, but outwardly, he appeared cool and collected.

"You have a job for me, Ma?" he asked evenly, "What kind of a job?"

"I need you to catch a bad, bad criminal—that's what you're good at, right?" Madeline asked, hopeful.

Maybe this was serious after all.

"Go on," encouraged Michael leaning forward. Madeline took another puff before she continued.

"Now I don't want you to be all worried about me when I tell you this, Michael," Madeline stated, sending Michael in alarm mode, "but…it's just…it's just this... someone tried to steal my purse this morning."

Michael leaned back with an unreadable expression.

"So-o…" he began slowly, "you want me to catch… a purse snatcher...Really, Ma? You think _that_ is the type of job I usually take?"

Madeline had an incredulous look about her before it turned into one of frustration.

"Let me get this straight, Michael…you'll go halfway around the world to help an unknown someone do whatever it is that you do… but when it comes to your own mother, the one who raised you almost single handedly since you were yay high…" Madeline looked defeated as she let her voice trail, hoping Michael would get the point.

Michael internally moaned. Patience, he reminded himself, patience.

"Okay...okay, Ma. Tell me what happened and what he looked like."

"Well, I didn't get a good look," admitted Madeline as Michael tried not to roll his eyes, "but the second time…"

"Wait…" Michael reached out and placed his hand on top of his mother's to stop her from proceeding, "…a second time? You mean the _same_ guy tried to take your handbag on _two_ separate occasions?"

Madeline gave him a "now you get it" look.

"For once you're listening to me!" she nodded, "As I was saying…"

But Michael had stopped listening and immediately looked across the street at the Cadillac. He had been distracted and had forgotten about its presence.

He had made the worst mistake a spy can make-he had been careless.

The driver side door of the Cadillac was slightly ajar, as if someone had sneakily left the vehicle in a hurry without wanting to make a sound.

In his peripheral vision, Michael saw someone expeditiously sit next to his mother, across from him. The man was bald with a thick mustache and deceitful eyes. He was solidly built. In other words, he had 'danger' written all over him.

There was the sound of a cocked gun underneath the table.

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_Oh, my! The reviews are in! Thanks for reading and thanks for the kind reviews! You make me burst with happiness! I hope you will continue!_

_Kindly review._


	3. Chapter 3

Madeline shows courage.

Chapter 3

The dangerous looking man obviously held a gun under the table. Experience enabled Michael to recognize a Glock simply by the cocking sound of the weapon.

The man looked at Michael, then at Madeline.

"Michael, do you know this man?" Madeline turned and gave the unknown bald man a fierce look.

"Know what I have under the table?" he asked menacingly.

"Let me guess…something _small_?" Madeline responded in a smart aleck way.

The man looked annoyed as he turned to Michael and gestured with his head in Madeline's direction.

"Your elderly girlfriend better shut up if she wants to live," he threatened.

Madeline opened her mouth in response, but Michael shot her a warning look with his eyes. She knew better than to say anything.

"What do you want?" Michael asked in a demanding way, with no fear in his voice.

"Simple," the bald man said, "If you don't want her to die, she is going to hand over her purse. And when I leave, you will not follow me or both of you will be dead."

At least this wasn't a kidnapping. Michael was relieved. After all, he wouldn't want to wish her on anyone.

Michael peered covertly in Sam's direction at the bar. Unfortunately, Sam's back was to them and it looked as if he was fully engrossed in a conversation with a waitress half his age. There would be no reason for Sam to turn around unless Michael had an even younger and cuter waitress at his table. With the gun pointed at them, Michael could not risk making a sudden move or loud sound to signal Sam, either. Having his mother here made the situation even riskier.

That didn't leave Michael a lot of options.

Being a spy doesn't _always_ mean going into attack mode. Sometimes when civilians are involved, the best tactic is to play it safe. And when the civilian is your mother, you need to play it _overly_ safe.

"Give the man your purse," asserted Michael quietly to his mother.

The bald man held out his hand.

"No! Not my purse, Michael!" insisted Madeline as she clung onto her cheap straw tote, "I won't let him take it!"

Of course, there are complications when the civilian refuses to cooperate with the arrangement.

The bald man and Michael both stared at her, not believing she would risk her life over an old straw purse.

When a plan backfires, a spy knows to have a back up one in position.

Michael considered plan number two in his mind. As he remained seated, Michael made his leg muscles tight. The other part of that plan required his mother to provide a distraction to the target. No problem there, whatsoever.

"You don't know who you are dealing with, Mister!" Madeline's bold words interrupted Michael's inner thoughts as she turned confidently to him, "right, Michael?"

If Michael were not so focused on his scheme, he would have buried his head in his hands. Instead he discreetly placed his hands on the edge of the table. Timing was the key.

With an expression of displeasure, Madeline stubbornly held on to her purse with both hands.

"If you don't hand over that damn purse right now," the man's patience was wearing thin as he stared down Madeline, "I will-"

Time to put the backup plan into play.

With his leg muscles planted solidly on the ground, Michael suddenly up- righted the table and smashed it into the bald man's face. The table hit the man full on his face as he yelled out in pain at the impact. At the same time, Michael pushed Madeline aside after she jolted up confusingly. He rolled himself on the ground as he heard the sound of gun shot randomly going off.

The Cantina was suddenly a bedlam of screams and running.

Michael continued rolling, now the other way, confusing the shooter. Shouts could be heard all around the tiny sidewalk area. People had scattered in all directions. From somewhere, Michael heard two familiar hollering voices in the chaos. He recognized it as Sam dragging a yelling Maddie away.

The already injured man had recovered enough to angrily point his gun and fire a second shot at Michael, who was still on the ground. Due to Michael's unpredictable reverse roll, the shot hit the ground next to his body.

With Sam and Madeline safe from imminent danger, Michael would now be able to unleash.

From the ground, Michael reflexively delivered a high, accelerated kick to the bald man's hand, sending the gun sailing and bringing an instant yelp of pain from the man. As the man used his other hand to help shield the pain, Michael uprighted himself and nailed another high kick, this time aiming for a selected spot on the guy's head, as the bald man crumpled in a heap on the sidewalk.

There were more yelling and scrambling, creating additional turmoil, alongside the beeping of cell phones, as people nervously called in the turbulent scene to the police or 911. The sounds of sirens could be heard in the distance; a fire truck gave three loud echoing honks.

"Come on, Mikey!"Sam hurried Michael while at the same time holding onto a shaky Madeline. "We gotta get out of here!"

Sam was practically dragging Michael and Madeline along. The three of them quickly got lost in the chaotic confusion, amid all the noisy emergency vehicles arriving and the people clearing out from The Cantina.

They rushed forward to Sam's car as Michael thanked Sam for rescuing his mom. As Sam unlocked the door of his car, Michael looked over at his mother.

"Ma! Are you alright?" Michael asked in a slightly louder voice, in order to be heard above the fray.

"Of course I'm not okay, Michael! It's not like we've just attended a picnic! I just hope I didn't get any gun residue or powder or whatever you people call it, on my purse," Madeline paused to closely inspect her straw tote for damages.

Michael couldn't believe how much he missed _real_ spy work.

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_Reviews are MUCH appreciated!_

_AND Fiona makes an appearance next chapter!_


	4. Chapter 4

...And introducing Fi.

Chapter 4

The three quickly shuffled inside the safety of Sam's vehicle, with Madeline in the passenger side. As they drove away from The Cantina pandemonium, Madeline had turned and looked at her son in the back seat.

Surprisingly, Michael looked unruffled. Wearing his requisite shades, he was once again calmly staring straight out, as if it was an average day in Miami and the three of them were in a car, casually going sightseeing.

Sam drove unevenly, constantly viewing the rear and side view mirrors. They drove ten minutes in silence, each deep in his or her own thought.

Two police vehicles, going the opposite way, raced by them with sirens blaring. That's when reality finally hit Madeline.

"Michael, Sam…_what the hell just happened back there_?" she demanded to know, her eyes large.

Sam keep his sights forward and made a right into Michael's warehouse loft, "I think someone is serious about getting your purse, Maddie," he said, driving into the enclosed area to let Michael and Madeline out.

"Well, he'll never get it," Madeline announced for the umpteenth time as Sam drove away to his own place, quite relieved to be going home alone.

As they climbed up the stairs to his loft, Michael held on to Madeline, who was still a little unsteady.

"Well…thank you, Michael," she finally acknowledged, once they reached the top of the stairs.

Standing calmly on the landing now, Madeline showed the first sign of being back to normal as her face lit up with a contrived smile. She tried to make light of the situation, "I guess that'll teach someone to call me elderly, eh, Michael?"

She looked almost cute when she smiled. Almost.

The bald man calling his mom "elderly" did not bother Michael at all. He was actually more upset when the guy thought she was his girlfriend.

"Ma, don't worry," he said as he got out his keys, "We will find out why that guy was after your purse."

Madeline looked relieved with his confident declaration while Michael couldn't believe he had just confirmed he would take on his mom as a client.

"Well…about hiring you, Michael…I could only pay you with some of my chipped beef … that's all I can afford right now …but I'll make a BIG batch…"

For a second, his taste buds were screaming at him: Not the chipped beef! Anything but that! He remembered as a youth, he thought of it as "chipped-tooth beef."

But outwardly, he showed no reaction.

"Sure, Ma," was his forced reply.

"I've even learned how to make your chipped beef a new way, " added Madeline proudly, "I pour in a can of soup on the beef and then nuke it entirely in the microwave! It's delish!"

Michael bit his lower lip until it almost bled to keep from commenting as he opened the door.

A glimpse of sexy legs on his bed was the first thing they noticed when Michael opened the door.

Fiona Glenanne was lying on her stomach in his bed. Her tanned legs were crossed high in the air. She was flipping through a magazine.

One would expect someone who looked like Fiona to be perusing through a fashion magazine, but her magazine of choice was a military weapons magazine.

Just 15 minutes earlier, she had been reading an article about Ireland's TruLock 12- gauge double shotgun, the kind she had used when she had been on an undercover assignment with Michael in Dublin. Michael had made the mission unforgettable.

With her index finger, Fiona lovingly traced around the gun in the picture, as she absent-mindedly recalled their time there. Memories of Michael filtered through her thoughts as she recalled their first kiss on that long ago night..

_It was ten years ago, in the blackness of the night. They had barely escaped. Their backs were against a dilapidated building, in a dark alley. Artillery fire could be heard in the background, as they attempted to listen for the sounds of any lagging military footsteps. The enemy had already passed them, but they had to make sure the coast was clear before venturing out in the open again._

_ They stood side by side, secretly hidden in an isolated backstreet in Ireland. They were surrounded by danger, yet all Fiona could think about was the man next to her._

_ She could not deny her attraction to Michael McBride. _

_The confined hiding place forced her shoulders to come in contact with the hard side of his body, his closeness making it hard for her to breathe. She was afraid he would hear her heart pounding in the quiet darkness of the night. She knew the exact moment he had turned to watch her, as her entire body seemed to burn with awareness._

_The moon shone high in the clear Dublin sky, illuminating just enough light so that as she peered up at him , the first thing visible to her was his mouth. She thought he had the most sensuous lips she had ever seen, wide and promising. _

_Her eyes traveled up to his eyes and she realized with a start that he had been watching her the whole time. Their gazes locked. _

_Wordlessly he moved closer to her in the midnight shadows as his hand reached out and languidly grazed the outside of her lips and then up to her cheeks, causing her to tremble. The texture of his hand was so masculine...and rough. It was too dark to see each other's faces completely, but she knew what would come next. _

_She opened her mouth to protest but her voice was extinguished into a feeble gasp as his head lowered._

_There was a sudden blaze of sensation as she felt her mouth against the burning heat of his. He used his hand to urge her head to his shoulder, anchoring her firmly, as his lips covered hers. The feel of his mouth was exquisite, as he possessed her with a slow, lingering kiss, using his tongue to entice her. The kiss then turned into something hot, pressing and insistent. She had never been kissed like this, his mouth sending such a sensual demand that she wilted from the heat of it. She surged up against him, pressing herself deeper into his strong embrace. The dark, dangerous night suddenly turned into a star-filled rapturous night as they ended their kiss._

_ The last thing Fi remembered was the gleam of moonlight reflected in his eyes._

She was brought out of her daydreams as Michael and Madeline entered the loft.

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_Uh…I should have warned you…I am a hopeless romantic, so Michael and Fiona's scenes together will be more "moonlight kisses" than" hot and sexy romps". I hope that is okay with you._

_So what do you thinK? **Please review** and let me know-I would really appreciate it!_


	5. Chapter 5

The Mystery of the Straw Purse

Chapter 5

At the sound of the door opening, Fi rolled over on the bed, surprised on seeing Madeline entering alongside Michael. She gave him an inquiring look.

He returned her wondering gaze with an opaque one, letting her see nothing of what he was thinking inside.

Michael and Fiona had not seen each other since their last successful job three weeks ago, so his heart started to beat frantically at the sight of her. Despite all his training in self- control, Michael could not stop his internal reactions to her.

Michael thought Fiona always looked as though she should be posing for the cover of Cosmo magazine. She had the required long, luxurious hair, puffy pouty lips and killer body. Hauntingly stunning, she had beautiful blue-green eyes and cheekbones angled deeply over the soft curves of cheek and jaw. Today she wore a loose halter-top over super skinny jeans and high platform sandals. A vision of sexy loveliness. One would never guess that beneath Fi's surface beauty was an IRA bomb-making woman with expertise in weapons and demolitions.

Madeline watched Michael's complete fascination with Fiona coiled beneath his cool exterior and smiled to herself. Fiona was so perfect for Michael, and one day he would realize it, too, she thought.

Fi noted Michael's disheveled look immediately.

"Rough day at the office, I see, Michael," she said nonchalantly as she sat up.

Her attitude was blasé, but she could feel her insides quivering. Michael had that effect on her. Even with his disarrayed appearance, his air of authority was unmistakable. That, mixed with the compellingly deep timbre of his voice and those riveting blue eyes, always made Fiona want to melt.

"You have no idea, Fiona." Michael's voice was monotone, but a warm current ran underneath his words. He was obviously happy to see her. Fi's nerves tingled responsively, especially when he called her by her full first name.

They exchanged glances from halfway across the room; composed blue-green eyes contemplating strong ocean- blue ones. It was as if they were the only ones in the room.

Only they weren't.

"Guess what, Fiona?" Madeline said enthusiastically, like a kid on Christmas morning, "I'm Michael's new client!"

Their private moment had been broken.

Fi raised an inquisitive eyebrow at Michael.

Madeline hurriedly sat at the foot of Michael's bed, as Fi turned to give Madeline her full attention.

"You should have seen Michael take on that purse snatcher!" Madeline sounded excited as she related the entire story to Fiona.

Michael walked past the women and helped himself to some yogurt from the refrigerator. He never understood his mom's total approval of Fiona. It seemed as though his mom wanted them to end up together.

"…a purse snatcher, Michael?" Fi had a teasing look about her as she finished listening, "Thank _goodness _you were there!"

Madeline, of course, did not hear the sardonic tone of that comment.

"…Oh, I know! We really were in the mess of things with that purse snatcher…and you know what, Fiona?" Madeline looked with pride at Michael, as if he had won a million dollars for her, "Michael said he would _get_ this purse snatcher! The guy is dead meat! Michael is going to _demolish_ the guy to smithereens! Isn't it _wonderful_?"

Fi looked incredulously at Michael.

"Oh? A purse snatcher case?" she asked with an unreadable look, "well…how utterly… quaint."

"It's not quite that simple, Fi," Michael said as he told her _his_ side of the situation. He added in the part about the same man attempting twice to get the purse and the black Cadillac that had obviously been trailing his mother. This was definitely something more than someone stealing petty cash from a random person.

Madeline listened to what Michael said, enthralled to be in the thick of things. She was now part of a case! Maybe she would help Michael nab that useless purse-snatcher. An idea formed in Madeline's head and she turned towards Michael.

"Michael, a thought just occurred to me," his mom analyzed, "I just purchased a tube of Ben Gay at the drug store; do you think he possibly wanted that?"

Madeline looked so earnest.

Was she serious? It was hard to tell sometimes.

"Maybe the Ben Gay wasn't the intended object, Ma." Michael couldn't believe he was saying it with a straight face, as he added, "but let's see what else you have in your purse, Ma."

Michael put his yogurt down on the counter, walked over, and held out his hand.

Madeline surprisingly held on tighter to her purse.

"I don't know if I want to give you my purse…" she began, looking accusingly at him, "unless you promise to give it back!"

He internally groaned, trying hard not to show his frustration. He was still bothered that she had not handed over the purse to the bald man at The Cantina. "Ma, what is so _important _about that old purse of yours?"

Michael tried not to lose his composure as Madeline stuck out her lower lip.

"You don't remember, do you?" she gave him that same hurt look she used to give him after she spanked him, "This is the purse you and Nate gave me when you were 14. Remember? You gave it to me on my birthday."

He stared back at Madeline as if she had just slapped him. It all became clear to him now.

_He recalled_ a_ll the lawns he had to mow for two months. He and Nate were going in together to buy his mother a beautiful honey-brown leather purse. Except Nate had squandered his money on several packets of baseball cards. _

_Michael recalled walking alone to the store to buy the purse, the few dollars adding a slight weight in his pocket. His only concern was that the price of the leather purse would be beyond his earnings._

_Next door was a hobby shop and Michael stopped to gaze longingly through the window to view the model of a Fighter Jet he had been eying for a while. He reached into his pocket and felt the hard- earned money while looking wistfully at the Fighter Jet model. __But it was his mom's birthday, he reminded himself._

_Fighter Jet models come and go, but he had only one mother._

_He went to the adjacent shop and determinedly bought a straw tote, the only purse he could afford. _

_Wrapping it in newspaper, he presented it to her, insisting that it was from both him and Nate._

Now as he watched his mother lovingly protecting the purse, he realized he had made the right decision on that long ago day. Thank goodness she wasn't kidnapped today after all.

"I'll be very careful with your purse, Ma" Michael promised with an added tenderness in his voice, "Let's see what is inside your purse… besides the Ben Gay."

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_Thank you again for all the wonderful reviews, I am simply overjoyed and hope you continue._

**_Please review._**


	6. Chapter 6

The purse holds a clue

Chapter 6

Holding onto her purse protectively, Madeline looked cautiously at Michael. He was looking at her with a look of…almost sweetness.

When Michael looked at her _that_ way, she didn't know if she could trust him.

Fiona took in the entire scene, "It's okay if he looks in your purse, Madeline," she assured her softly, "I'll make sure he returns it."

Madeline looked trustingly at Fi before hesitantly handing it over to him.

Michael took her straw tote and walked over to where he had left his yogurt on the counter. He turned the purse upside down and dumped the contents out.

"Hey!" hollered Madeline, from the bed, "Careful with that!"

Michael rummaged through the items, taking note of all the typical purse things that were so like his mom—an old flowered fabric wallet, picture pocketbook, a shopping list, extra earrings, cigarettes, lighter and keys. There were only two things, in the pile of items, not usually found in her purse—the tube of Ben Gay and a small manila envelope with a cardboard of some sort inside.

Michael picked up the sealed envelope and felt the contents. He was willing to bet the envelope contained a 3 by 5 snapshot photo of some sort.

"What is this?" Michael held up the envelope to show Madeline.

Madeline's expression showed surprise.

"Hey… that's not mine!" she proclaimed.

"It was in your purse, Ma, how did it get there?" Michael asked.

"Which part of 'not mine' didn't you understand, the 'not' or the 'mine'?"

"Oh, that's a real help," Michael said as he tore open the envelope. He scowled at the one picture enclosed.

The photo had been taken two days earlier, according to the time stamp on the back of the picture. The picture was of a non-descript middle-aged man with a crew cut, walking out of a bar. Above the doorway, one could scarcely make out the sign of "Dewey's Bar". The image was grainy and out of focus.

He handed the picture over to his mother.

"Do you know this man?"

Madeline scrutinized the picture and shook her head. If his mother hadn't known about the existence of this picture, someone must have insidiously placed it in her opened tote bag.

"This is probably what the man was after," Michael stated, "Ma, think about the places you've been to in the last couple of days. Think carefully."

Madeline furrowed her brows together, "Well, as you know, I went to the drugstore for my Ben Gay, so it must have been during that time…oh, no wait…the grocery store—I needed bread that day…and did I go to the post office, _two_ or _three_ days ago? Maybe _two_-and-a-half days ago, so does that count?…and you know, on that same day, I think I had also gone to the doctor's office because I had a problem between my toes..."

_Too, too much information..._

As Madeline rattled on, Michael dropped his head and buried his forehead in the side of his flattened palm, just as his cell phone rang.

It felt similar to a reprieve as he lifted his head, reached over and picked it up. It was Sam who explained that his source had checked out the license plate number for the black Cad, identifying it as a rental and that the bald man _had_ been in police custody, but he was now nowhere to be found.

"I can't get any info at all about 'Baldy' from my source at the police department," Sam explained, "that fact alone is strange. It's like the guy never existed. We're back to square one, Mikey."

"Not quite, Sam, "Michael responded as he told Sam about the puzzling picture found in his mother's purse. Michael said he would send off a copy of the picture so Sam could work on trying to identify the man.

Madeline stood up after Michael had ended the call.

"So, Michael, I guess I have to stay here-until we find that purse snatcher, eh?"

Michael froze. He hadn't thought that far ahead. But there was no other way around it. He had to protect his mother.

Madeline seemed pleased, "I guess this is payback for all the times you've had your clients end up at _my_ house, and I had to watch them day and night, night and day, isn't that right, Michael?"

Not. That. Issue. _Again._

Fiona interjected.

"That's because you would always keep them safe, Madeline, " Fiona cleverly countered, "And of course, now we want _you_ safe. I think you _should_ stay here."

Madeline looked lovingly at her. It was the kind of look that mothers-in-law gave their favorites.

"Well, then, Michael, I want Fiona to stay here with me, too, " insisted Madeline, sounding like an demanding child. Fiona nodded her head in agreement.

"What? No, Ma, that's not necessary," Michael protested, "You have me."

"Are you kidding, Michael? Everytime I'm around you, too many crazy things happen… like fighting…and guns going off…and just chaotic chaos everywherel!" argued Madeline, throwing up her arms explosively, before turning to smile at Fi, "Fiona will be a calming influence for us."

Fiona, a calming influence? If Madeline only knew that right this very minute, Fiona probably had a grenade in her purse.

"She's right, Michael," said Fiona.

Fi came over to him and with pleading eyes, she touched Michael's arm in order to convince him further, "Your mother's been through a lot and…well, she needs a soft woman's touch. And really, I don't mind _at all_ staying and watching over her."

Michael was intensely affected by Fi's touch as he took a deep breath. He felt his pulse hammering in the place beneath his jawbone as he gazed down at her. He sighed.

Fi would have to stay here, too, he supposed.

A spy can sense when he has been out-maneuvered with no possibility of winning.

Fi smiled knowingly and then placed her arms behind her back, in a mischievous stance, as she rocked back and forth. She looked adorable as she tilted her head and peered at him with those seemingly innocent blue- green eyes. Her cheeks took on a satisfied glow as she saw the effect she was having on him.

"It's settled then!" he heard Madeline say, "Fi is staying with us...it'll be like a slumber party! This is double great, Michael, because I'll finally get to see for myself what you do! What a great way for you and I to bond!"

Madeline's face beamed with pleasure.

This wasn't bonding, Michael surmised, this was _bondage._

"T-that's just great, Ma... just great."

"Oh... And... Michael?" began Madeline gently, before ending in an emphatic voice, "Give me back my purse!"

.

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_I'd love to hear what you think! Please review._


	7. Chapter 7

Michael and Fiona share a moment.

Chapter 7

Michael had awakened early, after a sleepless night, and went to the back door of his loft, which doubled as a huge back window. He had pushed aside the heavy door to reveal a view of industrial warehouses on the waterfront. As he leaned against the door frame, he stared out onto the lavender light of dawn. Factory smoke drifted over the city in a light haze, softening the harsh outline of the rundown buildings.

Looking out over the waterfront, his thoughts drifted to distant memories. He recalled how eagerly Fiona used to respond to him when he would reach out for her back in Ireland. He would kiss her whole-mouth hungry, with a raw desire. As their relationship progressed over time, they also shared deep aspirations and life assessments as Fiona became 'the one'.

But his next assignment arrived all too soon and reality entered their world. It had not been an easy decision for Michael to leave her during that time, but people's lives were on the line.

Fiona had been asleep when he had noiselessly shut the door for the last time and walked away. He could not bear telling her face-to-face. Oh, he knew she would have put on a brave front, but inside, her heart would ache, just as his had been irreversibly broken.

Time had moved on, yet his yearnings for her had never waned.

Presently, he could hear Madeline snoring from where he stood, although she would always swear she was just "breathing loudly". Last night, his mother and Fiona had shared his large bed. He looked towards the bed and noticed only one lump.

A female voice from behind slightly startled Michael.

"You're up early, Michael," Fi said quietly, so as to not wake up Madeline. Michael did not even hear Fi come up to him. She would have made an excellent covert spy.

"Sleep has been elusive," Michael stated, quickly recovering, "I'm worried about Mom. I can't believe she was placed in danger yesterday. In broad daylight, no less."

Fi tilted her head at him, a pleased expression on her face.

"I like when you show you care about her, Michael."

"She's my mother, after all, Fi. For all her meddling and frustrating ways, I wouldn't know what I'd do if something happened to her, " he admitted.

"But _nothing_ happened to her… because of you," Fiona reminded him.

Michael liked that he could be honest with Fi about his variable feelings towards his mother. However, one thing he _wouldn't_ admit to Fiona is the reason why he didn't want Fi to stay here at his loft day and night.

He didn't know if he would be able to resist her.

For despite all her strong and sexy bravado, Fiona was the most feminine, vulnerable woman he has ever encountered, and that made her irresistible.

"Michael, I know you worry about her, but just treat this case like any other case." Fi brought him back to the present. Her head went back and forth as she recited a list: "… we'll just do some investigating…some breaking in…some conning…some shooting-_especially_ some shooting…"

Michael liked listening to the lull of her low, sexy, voice.

His gaze swept longingly over her face.

Fi was caught off guard by the way he was focusing on her and stopped in the middle of her recitation. It wasn't a look of attentive listening he was giving her; it was a look of desirous yearning. She attempted to look indifferently back at him, but there was also a telltale look of passion in her eyes.

The coolness of the morning air turned sultry, as sensual tension permeated throughout the loft.

Michael hadn't expected to make a move on her, but her nearness was overwhelming. He murmured her name close to her ear, his breath a soft whisper, tantalizing her skin.

The velvety murmur of his voice made Fiona shiver. Her pulse beat wildly as Michael leaned towards her.

Michael pulled her into his arms and lowered his head as he angled his mouth over hers. The kiss, at first, was tentative. Slowly the gentleness became more urgent, as his tongue began searching hers in deep sweeps.

Fiona found herself relaxing against his hard body, accepting the tender pleasure of his kiss. She felt heat radiating from slowly within her.

At the same time, her inner voice told her this was just a physical moment in time; this was not a promise to stay. How could she allow this to happen _again_? She managed to pull her lips from his as she attempted to move from his embrace.

But the first blush of the beautiful day seemed to close all around them.

So instead of pushing him away, she intimately slid her palm to his lean cheek. It had been so long since she had touched him, she just wanted to feel him again. Just a second longer, she thought. Her hand attentively explored his closely-shaved stubble, as her gaze never left his.

"Michael…" she said delicately, "We shouldn't be together…like this…"

She whispered his name like a soft sigh. His left hand reached out to her cheek, the thumb making circular motions.

"It's just that you're so beautiful, Fiona," Michael admitted, his unreadable persona finally cracking.

She then felt his strong hand close around the back of her neck. Her willpower to stop this had abandoned her.

He tilted her head back and sealed his mouth over hers once more, kissing her hard this time. Fi's weak defenses crumbled, as he possessed her mouth with deep, delicious kisses. Michael kissed her as if he would devour her. Moaning, she stood on her toes, pushing herself up to him as he buried his hands in the locks of her luscious hair.

Breaking the kiss, Michael then traced kisses lightly along her jawline, finding the vulnerable area along the side of her throat. Fi closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation as he finally found the area where a pulse throbbed wildly.

She felt compelled to touch him somewhere, anywhere, as she reached up and...

"_Hey! Where is everyone_?"

Madeline's raspy voice reverberated throughout the huge, open loft.

Michael abruptly broke his hold, almost comically dropping Fi.

Their intimate embrace was not lost on Madeline, as she sat up in the bed. But instead of feeling embarrassed, a big grin appeared on her face.

If two people ever deserved to be together, it was her son and Fiona, Madeline thought to herself. For only Fiona could bring the contentment Michael needed in his life.

"Aren't you glad I had arranged to have Fiona here, Michael?" Madeline sounded so proud of herself.

By chance, Michael's cell phone rang, so he didn't have to answer the question. He took a deep breath and tried to collect himself. Fi looked down, cleared her throat and finger-combed her hair. She couldn't bring herself to even look at him.

If she did, she would be tempted to walk straight back into his arms.

Michael walked over to the counter to retrieve his cell phone.

"Yeah... Sam," Michael said, taking another deep breath, quite relieved to have something else to think about.

"Hey Mikey, put on your big boy spy pants," Sam's voice sounded satisfied, "I just found out the identity of your Dewey Bar guy."

.

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_Hope you enjoyed the passionate yearnings! What did you think? **Please review.**_


	8. Chapter 8

An identity is revealed, as Madeline helps.

Chapter 8

The roomy loft felt crowded as Michael, Fiona, Madeline, and now Sam gathered together for the morning meal. The prepared breakfast spread on the counter included scrambled eggs, beer, oatmeal, an apple, bacon, orange juice, health bar, hashed browns, milk, toast, cold fried chicken, and a smoothie.

"Geez, is this the only meal we're eating today?" Madeline drolly asked, as the four observed the jumbled hodgepodge of food, from one end of the counter to the other.

"This looks like the reject table of a cruise ship buffet line," commented Fiona as she also viewed the mishmash of breakfast items.

"Just be careful when you reach for something. The food might rise up and revolt against one another, creating the world's first self-start food fight," stated Sam.

Even though Sam was joking in his usual way, he was actually trying to figure out what was going on. All morning, Sam had been getting a strange vibe among the three. Madeline had been sneaking peeks at Michael and Fiona. Michael wasn't making eye contact. A slight blush had appeared on Fiona's cheeks. What was going on here?

"Uh... guys," asked Sam, looking at the three, "Did something happen here that I should be made aware of?"

Madeline tried to hide her satisfied expression at the knowledge of the morning kiss, but she wasn't very successful.

"Well, Sam, _I_ won't be the one to tell you what wonderful thing happened this morning! " Madeline beamed, as she gave Michael and Fi a "secret" wink.

"_Madeline!"_ said Fi, looking embarrassed.

"_Ma_…" Michael said at the same time.

Madeline held up her hands in a surrender pose, feigning innocence, as Sam watchfully eyed each person.

Hmmm...Michael...Fi...happy Maddie...pondered Sam.

Uh-oh.

Michael cleared his throat.

"O-o-_kay... _back to business..." said Michael, as he reached for his smoothie and an apple. "Sam, what do you have for us?"

Sam knew not to probe further. When Michael said it's back to business, that's what he meant.

"Okay, Mikey. My buddies at the FBI came through for me, but just to let you know, I owe them one big favor," Sam explained.

Michael shot Sam a look and concluded that Sam must owe, by now, a trillion favors to all his sources.

_According to Sam, the man in the picture was the notorious bank robber Tom Turner. Ten years ago he had robbed over a dozen banks in the Miami area. His modus operandi would be that he and his cronies would burst through the bank doors and immediately shoot the security guard, thus guaranteeing everyone's cooperation._

_After a year of several inter-departmental investigations, the police and FBI finally had Turner cornered at his residence. As they surrounded the house, it suddenly burst into flames. His charred body had been found among the ruins. _

Or so everyone thought until now. For the photo in front of them refuted that fact.

"I have to say," evaluated Sam, "that according to this photo, he sure looks _good_ for a dead man who had been burnt extra crispy." Sam then casually took a bite of his fried chicken.

"Well," theorized Fiona, eating her oatmeal, "I could certainly understand why if Turner is alive, he would want that photo back—he has been off law enforcement radar for ten years, and now this photo surfaces."

"Yeah, and did it _ever_ surface…" added Sam, taking another bite, "of all places, in Maddie's handbag!"

The three turned their heads in unison to look at Madeline. She had been contently munching on her bacon, but had stopped chewing as she gave them a look of indignation.

"_What…_?" she asked, looking offended, "It's not like I'm in _cahoots_ with the bank robber or anything!"

"Of course not, Ma. But maybe you can help us." Michael then inquired, "Was anyone…and I mean _anyone_ near enough to you to drop that photo in your straw purse?"

"Well, let's see…anyone near enough to me? I guess that leaves _you_ out of it," Madeline pointedly told Michael, as he rubbed his forehead due to the mini-headache coming on.

Madeline faithfully detailed her activities for the past two days _again, _as the other three were held virtual prisoners. In the middle of her babbling, she suddenly stopped.

"Got it!" Madeline announced, capturing everyone's attention.

"The day before yesterday I had gone to Dr. Wayne's office building," she began, "just as the elevator doors were closing, this man _suddenly_ squeezed in. He had a hat…and glasses. The only reason why I remembered him was because he looked nervous, and he was _definitely_ up to no good, what with all the sweat and nervous ticks and, of course, his beady eyes. So I thought…"

"Ma, " interrupted Michael, "don't editorialize... just tell us the facts."

"Hey! Can't I add a little color commentary to my story?" Madeline looked frustratingly at Michael before continuing, "… anyway, where was I?"

"…the guy in the elevator, Madeline," reminded Fi.

"Oh, right, _so_…" Madeline continued, "this beady-eyed guy and I went up 4 floors and when the elevator stopped, the doors opened and he didn't even get out! He just pushed the button _again_ to go up two more flights. And then when he was exiting, he bumped my shoulder hard and didn't even apologize!"

Michael, Fiona and Sam, exchanged looks.

"So, do you think it means anything?" Madeline looked hopeful.

"You've been a big help Madeline," assured Fiona, "and…by the way, did he say anything as he brushed by you?"

"You mean 'pushed' by me, is more like it!" insisted Madeline, "I'm telling you, he was like a linebacker! I hate when—"

"_Ma_…" Michael was reminding her to stay on track.

"Alright, Michael! Geez!" Madeline gave him an annoyed look before continuing, "I think he was really upset, though, when the elevator doors first opened on the fourth floor, and he saw that other guy..."

"_WHAT_ OTHER GUY?" asked Michael, Sam and Fiona in unison, startling Madeline.

"The guy! The _other_ guy!" Madeline explained, "You mean, I didn't mention him? There was this muscled guy waiting for him when the elevator door opened and the…"

An afterthought entered her mind and Madeline suddenly looked excited. "Ooooh! _Wait_…the disguised guy that was in the elevator with me…the one with the hat…he had a mustache, too! I _knew_ I had seen that guy before! If you take away the hat…and the glasses…it's him! I'm sure of it! The bald headed guy at The Cantina! He was the one that had been in the elevator with me!"

Madeline had now worked herself into a frenzy.

"He's the one, Michael! He's the one that tried to steal my purse! My straw purse! I'm sure of it! I _know_ he's the one! He's the very one!"

"Wait, Maddie..are you trying to say..._he's the one?_ " jested Sam.

Fiona elbowed him in the arm.

"Oww!" Sam winced.

Getting elbowed from Fi was like getting elbowed by a heavyweight-boxing champ. He rubbed the sore spot.

Meanwhile, Michael watched his mother with steely, determined eyes.

No one messes with his mother.

"Don't worry, Ma," Michael stated quietly, "He will pay for scaring you."

"—Good!" agreed Madeline, " And maybe, I'll scare him, too, by delivering a few blows myself!"

Madeline then threw a couple of empty punches in the air.

"Did you see that, Michael?' she asked proudly, adding another air punch for good measure.

Sometimes, my mom scares _me_, Michael internalized.

.

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(Hi everyone! Thanks for reading! I'm so excited-I have an avatar! It's on my updated profile page. The avatar was drawn free- hand by my son.)

_**Please review**-I cherish each and every review!_


	9. Chapter 9

Sam…what more is there to say?

Chapter 9

Michael had left in the afternoon to the doctor's office of his mother's, since that had been where the "photo drop' in Madeline's purse had occurred.

This left Sam and Fi to watch over Madeline at the loft.

Madeline decided she needed a few items from her house; after all, she may be staying here indefinitely. She wrote down the items she would need, and by the time she had finished, it was a two- page list.

Who would be able to bring her the necessities she needed from her house? she considered.

She could hear Fi in the bathroom, blow-drying her hair. Sam was here in the main room, leisurely watching a football game on his Walkman TV, which had been situated on Michael's counter.

_So Sam, it is_, Madeline decided.

"Sam," asked Madeline in a sweet, pleading voice, "Do you think you can pick up a few items for me at my house?"

"No."

Quietness ensued.

"Come on, Sam, I need my stuff!" Madeline's sweet tone was gone, "_Michael_ would have done it for me!"

Sam held out his cell phone.

"Here," he volunteered, his eyes still watching the game, "You can use my phone to dial him."

Madeline came over and instead stood right next to Sam, invading his private space. She didn't need to say anything, but she folded her arms and impatiently tapped her foot, staring at him.

Sam turned his head, but his eyes were still focused on the small TV screen.

"Awww…Maddie, do I have to? I want to finish the game!"

"But, Sam, I really need these items! Michael doesn't have the womanly things I need here at the loft," reasoned Madeline.

Sam cringed at the phrase "womanly things".

His job was to watch Maddie, not be her errand boy. He continued watching the game.

"If you do…" cajoled Madeline, "you can help yourself to any leftover beer in my refrigerator. I've just bought two six-packs the other day, in fact."

On second thought...

"Uh…let me see the list, Maddie, " he said as she handed it over. He flipped to the second page, "Gee, Maddie…there are enough items to fill a storage unit!"

"Well, Sam…" reacted Madeline, pointing both index fingers at herself, "…you think '_this look_' comes by easily?"

Sam hoped he wasn't going to regret this.

"Okay, Maddie, okay…"

Through the bathroom door, he loudly told Fiona to watch Maddie, but the noise of the blow dryer had drowned out his request.

It took 25 minutes for Sam to drive to her house. Madeline lived in a quiet neighborhood on North River Drive. The simple boxed house was fronted by rocks along the sidewalk and perimeter hedges.

Sam walked up to the door of Maddie's house and noticed immediately the door had been left ajar.

Something was not right.

As he suspiciously entered the premises, he looked all around.

Her living room had been completely trashed.

Sam moved forward, stepping over a broken lamp amid several displaced knickknacks. He walked further into the room to survey the damage. Ransack Central ran rapid as Sam noticed upturned tables and chairs, thrown pictures, cut up upholstery, and items knocked over and strewn all around.

Sam concluded that someone broke into Maddie's house, looking for something.

Yeah, that's right. Sam Axe. First-rate lead detective.

From behind him, Sam heard the front door slam shut.

Before turning around, he heard what sounded like a switchblade opening, dashing all hopes that Madeline was just a messy person.

From halfway across the room, Sam spotted a muscled tattooed man, standing near the front door. He was wearing a white tank top and jeans. The muscled man had a maniacal grin on his face as he glared back at Sam, with the switchblade in his right hand.

So Sam did the only thing he could do when there is trouble.

He acted like himself.

"Hey, there... you," Sam said, with a slight wave.

Macho man ignored the greeting.

Macho man then crouched low in a combative position, with the knife still in his hand. He beckoned Sam with a come hither wave of his hand, daring Sam to move towards him.

Sam calmly shook his head.

"Uh…no thanks, guy. We've just met and I'm rather shy." Sam said in an even tone.

The last comment made Macho man laugh; not in a ha-ha funny way, but in a psycho way.

"Tell me where the photo is," Macho man commanded.

"And, if I don't?" Sam queried.

"Then you die quickly."

Malevolently, Macho man began to flaunt his talent with the knife by tossing it back and forth between his hands.

His hands were quick.

Sam exaggeratedly moved his head back and forth, following the movement of the knife. "Wow. Quite an act there."

By the glaring look on the bad guy's face, it was obvious he was losing patience with Sam's smart mouth.

"A wise-ass, huh? Well I HATE wise-asses!" Macho man angrily said, now keeping the knife in one hand, "I'm gonna ask one more time before I cut you; cut you so that even your own mama won't recognize you!"

"Listen, Buddy, forget the 'mommy' stuff ... and put that toy away, okay?" asked Sam, as he held out both his arms with palms faced down, in a 'calm down' gesture. "Then maybe we can talk."

"—Who _the hell_ do you think you are to tell me what to do?" he demanded, not sounding the least bit cooperative.

"Let me answer that nicely worded question," began Sam nonchalantly, "I'm the guy who _will shove that damn toy where the sun don't shine,_ if you don't put the knife down, Buddy."

Sam Axe. Poetic genius.

Macho man was no longer amused. He let out what could only be described as a growl as he inched forward towards Sam.

"You've just made the decision to die quickly" Macho man sneeringly stated, "And I'm gonna make sure you feel every cut...**I have a way with a knife where I can cut your heart out and show it to you before you die."**

He moved towards Sam.

.

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_(I just have to say...Sam is such a blast to write!)_

_Please review._


	10. Chapter 10

Sam…part two

Chapter 10

Macho man kept advancing towards Sam, the knife held firmly in his hand.

Sam did not move from his spot.

"**Stop right there!**" asserted Sam as he held out his hand in a 'stop' gesture.

Surprisingly, Macho man paused.

Sam stood tall, with his hands pointing to his body as he continued, " Now, don't let this experienced, world-weary body of mine fool you. Yeah, it _looks_ all slow and sluggish, but I'm here to warn you: I know martial arts...and not just _any_ martial arts, but **super- duper** martial arts!"

'_Super duper' martial arts? Who the hell **is** this clown?_ Macho man made a slashing motion with his knife, and grunted, as he trudged forward.

"**You've just breathed your last breath, Smart-Ass!**" Macho man warned.

Macho man was now closing in.

Then Sam reached behind his back to produce a Beretta 92 semi-automatic pistol.

Macho man froze.

"...Yeah, _that's_ right, big guy," Sam stated flippantly, "Now, I could actually show off my chop-chop skills to you, but _why,_ when a gun will do the trick better?"

Sam purposely aimed the gun right between the Macho man's legs, at the guy's privates. Macho man's eyes widened as he glanced down before looking back at Sam.

"Did you know..." Sam began slowly, "That taking steroids to make your arm muscles swell _that_ _big_ actually makes other parts of your body _shrink? _

At the sound of the cocking of the gun, Macho man dropped his knife.

"No! Don't! No, no! Look, man...the knife's already gone…" he pleaded, holding up his opened hands, "_Please_, you don't want to use that!"

"Sure, I do!" Sam replied, as Macho man shut his eyes and cowered.

Without skipping a beat, Sam aimed his gun low at the knife laying on the ground and fired. The knife was hit dead center and jumped up on impact. The shot echoed through the small room as Macho man opened his eyes, patted down his own body, and then heaved a sigh of relief.

"Let this be a lesson to you," advised Sam, "Don't wave a toy like that unless you have _bullets _to back it up."

Macho man reached down for the broken lamp and threw it at Sam before he turned and high-tailed out the door.

Just like I figured he would do, Sam thought with a secret smile to himself. He holstered his gun back in his waistband.

Alone again, Sam put his hand on his waist and looked around at the scattered mess in Maddie's living room.

I hate having to go through an obstacle course to get beer, Sam internalized.

The funny thing was, that wasn't the first time he had that thought.

.

An hour later, Sam had arrived back at Michael's loft. He noted that Fi was casually leaning on the counter snacking on a yogurt, as she read her magazine.

"Hey," said Sam to Fi, as he lugged in two big bulky garbage bags, "Where's Maddie? Tell her I have her things."

Fi looked up from her magazine at Sam.

"Sam, what do you mean?" she questioned, "I thought Madeline was with _you_."

He paused to see if Fi was playing with him. Her expression told him she wasn't.

"Are you kidding, Fi? I _told_ _you_ I was leaving her with _you_ so I could go to her place to pick up some things for her!"

"Sam, I couldn't hear anything with the hair dryer on—couldn't you figure that out?" Fi looked slightly alarmed as her eyes darted back and forth.

"When Michael finds out you've lost Maddie, he is _not_ going to be happy with you!" Sam predicted, looking about.

"He may not be happy with me, _but he will kill you!_" countered Fi, as she hurried to check the bathroom.

"Oh, ha-ha!" yelled Sam to Fi, who was in the other room, "That was _so_ funny, Fi! Let me get a paper and pen so I can write that down!"

Fiona came back, stricken with panic now.

"She's not here! But…let's stay calm…" continued Fi, "and really, Sam, don't blame yourself…"

"Believe me, sister, I did my part…_you_, on the other hand…" Sam began before they heard the door of the loft being flung opened. They turned and looked relieved as Madeline stomped in.

"My God, Madeline!" said a relieved Fi, "Where have you _been_? We've been worried sick!"

"Yeah…for all of a minute!" Sam added.

"Didn't you hear me say I was going to my water-robics class?" she asked Fi, "You _know _I never miss a class!"

Madeline walked over to the counter and disgustedly threw her keys on the counter. Obviously something had happened, for she looked perturbed.

Sam and Fi exchanged glances.

"Uh, Maddie, is everything all right? You look…not yourself." Sam asked as he noticed her bottom lip sticking out.

Madeline heaved a sigh of frustration.

"Ooooh…Thanks to this stupid purse snatcher case, I've missed _two_ important water-robics tests, so they've dropped me from my level of '_water_ **_shark_**' at the gym." Madeline looked absolutely miserable.

Sam and Fi both gave a sigh of relief before Fi's expression turned to one of contrived concern, for Madeline's sake.

"Aww, Madeline," comforted Fi as she walked Madeline over so they could both sit on the bed, "We're _so_ sorry to hear that! I know how water- robics is so important to you!"

Madeline stuck out her bottom lip even further, if that was possible.

"'Fi, Sam, it was awful, just awful! " explained Madeline, "I went from '_Water Shark_' to…to… '_Water Plankton'_ level…'_Water **Plankton**'_!..Can you believe it? I'll never live it down …and how will I ever tell Michael? Thank goodness he's off somewhere beating up whoever he needs to beat up!"

"You'll work your way back up again," Fi assured Madeline, patting her hand.

"That's right, Maddie," agreed Sam, "In the whole scheme of life, going down a level or two in a water class isn't so bad. It's not as _if_…um..._someone recently pulled a knife on you and tried to fillet you._"

"_Sam_!" A death stare from Fi.

"I'm just saying..." defended Sam, shrugging.

"Geez, Sam," Madeline looked puzzled, "…that's a rather _harsh_ analogy, isn't it?"

"But that _is_ one way to look at it... right, Maddie?" reasoned Sam gently.

Madeline gave it some thought.

"Well...I suppose..." Madeline sighed. "I guess I'd rather be in a lower level in water-robics than _skinned alive_. You're right about that, Sam."

Sam silently gave Fi a look of satisfaction.

"Just don't tell Michael about this," Madeline insisted, "He was so proud when I made '_Water Shark_'…but geez, louise, '_Water **Plankton**…'_"

Her expression now turned to one of disgrace as she shook her head again, whispering, _"plankton!" _under her breath_._

Sam and Fi exchanged looks, each recalling how they almost lost Madeline today.

"Don't worry, Madeline, we won't tell him, _any_ of this" promised Fi.

"Yeah, it'll be our little secret, Maddie," assured Sam.  
>.<p>

.

_On the show, Madeline had mentioned that she loved her water-robics class (She even forced Sam to go with her one time!), so I wanted to incorporate it somewhere in my story, as a way to further connect this story to the show.._

_Also, I know that Sam didn't really do any 'super-duper martial arts' action stuff in this chapter-but that doesn't mean he won't in the future! (hint, hint)_

_**Please review**._


	11. Chapter 11

An unexpected meeting.

Chapter 11

Michael would begin his investigation at Dr. Wayne's office building. The elevator in that building was where the bald headed man had slipped the photo in his mother's purse. Maybe one of the offices there would hold a clue.

The Doctor's office building was located in the area known as the Old Miami Historic District. Unlike many of the business buildings in this area of Miami, this nondescript building did not carry the usual bells and whistles of some of the modern day structures.

This building could only be described as Mediterranean decrepitness, complete with rough stucco walls, rusted wrought iron gates and unsolicited graffiti.

As Michael walked from his car towards the crumbling building, he noted a burly man wearing a baseball cap, glasses, and a cheap vinyl jacket. The man tried to appear inconspicuously in the shadows, as he walked behind Michael at a distance.

If a spy wants to know if he is being followed, simply drop something and see if the other person's rhythm is also broken.

Michael had been carrying today's newspaper under his arm, a typical prop used when pretending to be an everyman. He casually allowed the newspaper to slip from his arm, down to the ground. As Michael reached down, he could see the upside down image of the capped man as he stopped and pretended to look around.

There was no doubt he was being followed.

Michael uprighted himself and strategized. He knew the guy would not attempt anything so bold as to try to overtake him out in public, so Michael casually entered the old office structure and walked over to view the directory, like any passerby might do.

Glancing through the directory list, Michael's eyes paused at one business name that stood out among the list of offices. He now had an idea which office the bald man had been heading to that day he had "bumped" into his mom.

A spy should not put himself in a dangerous situation unless there is no other way to ascertain information.

So Michael went decisively forward, knowing he needed to find out the connection between the photo of bank robber Tom Turner and the bald headed man.

With his senses on red alert, Michael headed for the outdated elevator, the same one his mother had previously used. He entered the elevator, and pushed the button to the fourth floor.

Just as the doors began closing, the disguised man quickly jammed in. The elevator doors slammed shut.

The two were alone in the closed elevator room. No glances were exhanged, no phrases were spoken. Michael felt the same prickling feeling in the back of his neck that he had when this whole adventure started. And he knew why. Even though this guy didn't have a mustache, Michael knew for certain by the shape of the body that this was the same bald headed man from The Cantina.

Michael breathed in the stagnant air of the closed space. He had never thought he was claustrophobic, but the confined four walls were stifling him. The sealed elevator room felt like an oversized coffin.

The elevator had just started going up when the man, without warning, pushed the emergency latch. The archaic elevator jerked to a stop between floors. There was no way to get out.

Michael remained calm, although his mind was racing. When the man had reached for the latch, his jacket had opened slightly, revealing a gun. Not good, especially since Michael had left his own gun in the car.

The silence in the elevator was louder than thunder.

There were several ways Michael could play this. He could do nothing, he could attack the guy, or he could attempt to leave. All options led to one result-Michael would have to fight his way out.

Michael became aware that the man was reaching into his jacket. It wouldn't take a genius to figure out what he would pull out. An unarmed person might panic with fear. His inclination would be to try and grab for the weapon.

But a spy knows not to be guided by fear.

Trying to grab the gun away would be a mistake. The gun- toting person would also make that same assumption and therefore, would hold fast to the gun like it was another appendage. Wrestling a gun from an opponent would be too unpredictable for everyone concerned.

No, Michael needed to wait for the opportune moment. Timing was the key to any takeover.

"_Who the hell are you?_" Baldy demanded, as he aimed the gun in Michael's direction. Michael didn't flinch as he eyed the gun before steadily looking back up at 'Baldy'.

"I'm just someone trying to protect his _mother_," Michael stated, emphasizing "mother" instead of "elderly girlfriend".

Baldy guffawed, "Forget the hell you ever saw me. Just hand over the picture. _If you don't, I'm going to pulverize you into oatmeal with this gun._"

Michael figured the guy would not shoot him, being that Michael was the only link to getting the photo back. He hoped he was right.

"_Oatmeal_, you say?" Michael baited him, "That actually brings to mind a _pleasant_ image."

The man's face reddened with anger.

A spy is trained to control his feelings. You do not want your mind occupied with unnecessary thoughts.

And right now Baldy was distracted by his own anger. _Now_ would be the ideal time to strike.

Michael made his move.

Michael's whole body snapped into action as he reached over and slapped the folded newspaper onto the man's startled face. The man yelled out at the unexpected assault. Michael then landed a strong elbow jab to the guy's nose. He knew that the elbow was the strongest bone in the body, whereas the nose was one of the most vulnerable.

There was a sickening squelching noise, like someone stepping on the crunchy shell of a big, black garden bug, as the elbow made contact with the man's face. Instantly, blood sputtered from the guy's nose.

"**You broke my effing nose!**" Baldy cried out in pain, as he grabbed his nose with his non- gun hand, slightly bent over in pain.

But Michael was not done. Using one hand to hold onto the guy's head for leverage, Michael then used his elbow again to smash into the exposed area of Baldy's neck, nearly caving his windpipe in. A gurgling sound could be heard from the man. Then nothing. Michael followed it up with a knife-hand strike to the gun-hand.

The gun flew onto the floor, skidded across, and smacked against one of the walls of the elevator room. Michael then quickly grabbed the man from behind in a chokehold. Not too tight, however, for he needed to interrogate the guy.

"_Why did you put that photo in my mother's purse_?" Michael asked insistently.

The man painfully pointed to his throat. He struggled to answer, his windpipe seemingly damaged. Michael loosened his hold slightly.

That turned out to be a miscalculation on Michael's part. Baldy now did to Michael what Michael had done to him at The Cantina.

The dangerous-looking man suddenly attacked with an unexpected crazy fury.

Michael was no longer in control.

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_(Sorry, I don't use cuss words in my daily language, so if I write "effing"-I think you know what I really mean!)_

**_Please review_**


	12. Chapter 12

Michael learns of 'Baldy's' involvement.

Chapter 12

In the cramped enclosure of the elevator, Baldy moved with what seemed like the speed of light. He was able to maneuver his body so that his arm was freed from Michael's grasp. He quickly turned and punched Michael hard in the stomach. With an "oomph" sound, Michael released him.

This guy was fast, faster than Michael expected. The man was strong too; his strength being reflected in all his muscles. He definitely knew how to fight, too. It was obvious this guy had some training.

The hits came in a nonstop flurry. Michael was now in defensive mode as he worked at trying to prevent being struck. One punch landed near Michael's eye. He'd have a shiner for sure.

The guy attempted another punch to Michael's face again, but Michael was ready this time. He was able to quickly turn his head to lessen the impact. The punch caught on Michael's jaw instead. Pain exploded in that area, but Michael considered himself lucky. Better the fist struck the hard bone of the jaw than if the guy had connected with the soft tissues of Michael's eyes or nose.

The bald man kept up with the blows and attacks. Michael was able to land a few good strikes, but the guy was built solid and had a good 60 pounds of muscles over Michael. It seemed that anytime Michael countered with a hit, the man retracted in agony. But then he would quickly rebound with an onslaught of punches.

The strong man managed to land a successful punch on the bottom rib of Mike's cage. Michael had all the air taken out of him for a second. That hurt. That really hurt, but Michael was in survival mode. It was either him or the guy.

When the confrontation had started, Michael thought they were evenly matched. However, he felt differently as the fight continued. The other guy, with his bulk, had more power behind his punches. Michael was getting the worst of the blows and knew eventually he would not be able to hold his own against the stronger opponent.

It was time to try a different strategy.

A trained spy knows brute strength doesn't always win a physical confrontation. To make sure you're the last man standing, you must fight _smarter. _And sometimes that means not doing the expected.

When an opponent is throwing punches, most people assume they should distance themselves as far away as possible. But in the closed, confined area of an elevator, that was _not_ a possiblity.

Instead Michael edged closer as the man continued throwing random punches. Michael's body felt like a human punching bag as he tried to deal with the tight punches.

He would only have one chance at landing the critical blow.

Everything happened in a split second. Michael positioned his head, almost to the man's chest. When the man least expected, Michael lifted his head up hard and fast. It caught the man solidly on the chin. This left his body opened to attack and Michael made the best of it by using the strength of his entire body to push at the man's chest. Baldy's body reeled back and hit hard against the unyielding wall of the elevator.

This gave Michael enough time to take a few steps back and deliver a roundhouse kick to him hard in the face. Michael then got in close with a follow- up punch to the same spot. The burly bald man slumped to the ground, all fight gone from him.

Michael bent over and picked up the gun, aiming it at the guy. Gasping for breath, Michael looked right at the bald man. Their eyes met and what he saw in the man's eye's stunned him. It wasn't a look of hatred. It wasn't a look of wanting to kill Michael, either. It was almost a look of _respect_.

Michael reached over and pushed the elevator button to get it operating again. The elevator hummed as it once more creaked its way up. At the same time Michael was recalling what he had noted in the directory posted at the entrance of the building.

"I .. know…"said Michael, still trying to catch his breath, "that you are..a…private…investigator. ." That also explained why Sam could not ID the guy back at the police station. Baldy was probably an ex-law enforcement officer, so he had better connections than Sam.

The man looked up slowly, his body also painfully aching. Although weakened, he still had that ominous tone in his voice.

"A-All of this is... none of your... god damn business," he stated, wheezing a bit from his weak windpipe, "… I took… the picture to make some money. It's _my_ picture…_my_ money..."

"But you've made it.._my_ business.." interrupted Michael, still breathing hard, "...when you got... my mother involved."

Michael was still trying to catch his breath as he felt pain shooting in all directions. His body was a total wreck, but his mind was as sharp as a tack. He knew exactly what had happened.

_The bald man was a private investigator, who somehow had figured out that Tom Turner the notorious bank robber, was still alive. He tracked him down and secretly snapped a picture of Turner, in hopes of blackmailing the bank robber. They were to meet at his office in this building for the exchange of money. But as the elevator door opened on the fourth floor, P.I. Baldy caught a glimpse of Turner's thug outside reaching for his gun. So Baldy surreptitiously snuck the picture in Madeline's purse to make sure he would not be caught with the picture on him before he made his escape. Now he wanted the photo back._

Michael bent over slightly and inhaled as he wiped some sweat from his brow. The bald man, now somewhat recovered, shook his head with pity.

"You don't even know... what you are up against," the man said, his voice sounding tired, "or shall I say... whom you're up against."

Michael took the gun and tiredly pocketed it in his waistband. There was nothing the defeated man was going to do to him now.

"Enlightened me, then." Michael insisted.

Baldy eyed Michael, sizing him up. Then with great effort, he responded.

"That guy…Turner…is one determined SOB... he beat up the Doctor in this building...to get to your mother... I don't know who the hell you are... I don't know why you want to get involved. Just keep in mind... that you are playing superhero against some unscrupulous, dangerous people."

Michael didn't like what he had just heard. Some professional bank-robbing thugs knew the identity of his mother and knew where she lived. And Tom Turner's gang were ruthless-after all, they had gunned down several bank security guards. Michael didn't have any doubts they would do the same to his mother.

He stared down at the bald private investigator.

"This ends here, this ends_ now_," Michael warned, putting finality to the situation, "You are no longer in the loop. You need to find an easier way to make money."

Baldy's head drooped in a look of defeat. Michael would have no more trouble from him.

The elevator "dinged" and the panels opened. Standing just outside the elevator doors was a young couple, about to go in. They gasped at the two disheveled men in the elevator.

Michael straightened up and smoothed his clothing. He looked a mess,but it couldn't be helped. Michael turned to the bald man, who was still collapsed against the elevator wall. Baldy looked as if he had been tossed about, along with an opened tube of blood, in a dryer.

"I don't want you seeing my mother again," said Michael sternly, as he casually put on his sunglasses and stepped out of the elevator, past the shocked looks of the couple.

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_**(**In my writings, bad guys usually get descriptions for names ("Baldy", Macho man"). Cuts down on trying to remember a lot of names_**)**

**_Please review _**_( Thanks for all the ones that have taken the time to write one-each one is cherished!)_


	13. Chapter 13

Michael and Fiona get some private time.

Chapter 13

The tropical beaches of Miami have an identity all its own, with many calling it the American version of the French Riviera. Here, life is one chic street party, amidst the playground of art deco buildings.

Originally the four of them were supposed to have dinner together, except, once again, there was not to be a unanimous consensus on where to go. Michael wanted Joe's Crab Restaurant; Sam wished for Bongo's Cuban Café; Fi desired The Hard Rock Café; and Madeline voted for China Grill.

During the indecisions, Madeline had glanced over at Michael and then at Fi. Suddenly Madeline insisted that she had a _hankering_ for Cuban food and would join Sam. This meant Michael and Fiona would be dining with each other.

Madeline's matchmaking skills were intact; she wasn't fooling anyone.

At Joe's Crab Restaurant, Michael and Fi's dinner conversation mostly focused on the case. Michael had updated Fi regarding the bald private investigator's situation. Fi informed Michael about the muscled man's visit at Madeline's house. They concluded that Macho man was probably part of Turner's gang.

The bottom line was that Tom Turner, the bank robber, was getting closer to finding Madeline. Michael's loft was no longer a safe haven. They discussed the four of them moving to a motel for the time being.

After the informative dinner, Michael and Fiona decided to take a short stroll along the beach. Although it was actually a longer route back to the car, both secretly wished to prolong the night.

The sun was setting, sending hues of orange ribbons streaking across the sky.

Michael had already rolled up his pants leg and had taken his jacket off and slung it over his shoulder, anchoring it with one finger. He and Fi had removed their shoes, feeling the grainy sand beneath their feet, as they walked along the shoreline. Fi's dress billowed airily in the gentle breeze. The waters were calm this evening, the soothing waves acting like a warm tropical balm.

As they walked along the beach, they felt the tingle of the water's white foam, as it splashed up to their ankles before retreating leisurely back to the ocean. In the quietness of the evening, they could hear the murmurings of the ocean waters echoing in their ears. Up ahead they saw a half-washed sand castle being continually rolled over by the waves of the ocean.

They were intimately alone in a picture postcard setting.

Michael was casually looking off in the distance. He looked at peace with the world as he observed how the pastel pinks, bright aquas and canary yellows of the Ocean Drive hotels settled nicely against the beach front skyline.

He didn't know if it was the crashing waves, the captivating structures, the enchanting evening air, or Fi herself. He just knew he felt different this evening.

Fiona broke into his private thoughts.

"Michael, did you ever get the feeling that we were being set up by your mother tonight?" Fiona asked, searching Michael's face for a reaction.

"Perhaps," replied Michael, "although, she is not the only one who is happy about this arrangement…I'm liking it very much... it's wonderful that you are with me tonight, Fi."

Fiona had a surprised look on her face at Michael's candid declaration.

She liked Michael when he was this relax…and vulnerable.

It was the spy world that had trained him to build an emotional fortress that separated him from his true feelings.

"I suppose you'd want to talk about the kiss from the other morning." Michael looked apprehensively at her.

In truth, he didn't know what he wanted from Fi. That unexpected kiss from the other morning had definitely unsettled him. It reminded him that he had missed their sweet, endless joinings that set his world off balanced, even if, at times, it scared him.

For Michael was a person who demanded control, and ' off balanced' was definitely not a word in Michael's internal dictionary.

Fi looked at him questionably, but Michael was only aware of the way Fi's luscious locks blew gently in the evening breeze.

"What is there to say about that kiss, Michael? It just happened…" Fiona reasoned, shrugging her shoulders. She tried to make it sound noncommittal, but inside she quivered every time she recalled the effect it had on her. Yet she was determined not to let Michael know how it had affected her.

She stopped walking to make a point, as he stood next to her, listening intently. "Michael, I _know_ you…and I understand you…and as long as you are a spy, with a spy mentality…there will never be an "us" _…I get it_…that kiss is just a memory now."

Michael should have been relieved. But the words, spoken so directly, made him feel...regretful. There had been a time when Michael would have welcomed Fi's response of friendship. He thought that was what he wanted from her.

Yet, why had he felt on edge last night at the mere thought of her? Why did he wake up in the middle of the night feeling empty and agitated, burning for something more?

Michael's intense blue eyes gazed directly at Fi, causing her heart to thump hard in her chest, sending blood hurtling throughout her body. His eyes dropped to her exquisite mouth, noting the subtle but delicious indentation in the center of her lower lip. One kiss, he thought desperately. Surely he could have that.

"Fiona…" he began in a hoarse whisper.

Fiona's lips slightly parted at the sensual way he said her name.

"Fi," he tried again.

They could sense the mist of the salty air, hear the rush of the inviting ocean waters.

Michael reached over and touched her arm. The feel of her, even this slight, caused his breathing to race. He waited for her to move away in protest, but she was strangely still.

His mouth felt dry as he longed to fiercely press his lips on her. If only she would give him the slightest hint that she wanted him, too. He slightly leaned into her. Just one sign, he silently hoped. He was so close to her now that he could feel the swirling heat in both of their breaths.

The rhythmic sounds of the deep waves seemed to hypnotize them. They stared at each other in hopeless fascination.

Her breathing became rapid. Fiona desperately wanted to give into her feelings and desires. A shudder of unwilling excitement coursed through her as previous memories of their passionate abandonment flooded her mind. She yearned to feel his hot, pressing kisses, and touch his hard body as it sheltered her once again.

But it wasn't enough for her. She wanted more than just whispered pleasures and sensual caresses. She wanted all of Michael. So until he changed his priorities, she would keep things on a more impersonal, professional level.

Her mind was made up. Fi averted his gaze and she looked awkwardly down. Their private moment had dissipated.

Michael felt a stab of disappointment. Perhaps this was for the best, he thought. For if he kissed her once, he knew he would not be able to stop. He reluctantly brought his hand back down, as his tortured body screamed in protest.

She gathered up all her courage and looked squarely up at him again, the unrequited passion in her eyes seemingly gone.

"Michael, I like how we… _work_ so very well together," said Fi, with a slight catch in her voice, "and I wouldn't want _anything_ to hinder our helping Madeline...right?"

A lengthy silence stretched between them before Michael reluctantly nodded.

Inwardly, Michael felt disappointment, but outwardly, a slightly relieved smile broke out on his face.

She watched his smile, one of many in his vast repertoire of smiles.

To Fiona, his smiles never lasted for long. They vanished as quickly as they appeared. It was like catching a rare phenomenon. Like a shooting star, the sight was brief yet striking.

Just like her relationship with Michael.

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_(Enough angst?)_

**_Please review._**


	14. Chapter 14

Sam goes undercover

Chapter 14

**The Next Day**

Dewey's Bar was a dive.

That was what Sam concluded when he entered the smoky filled bar. A guy could develop lung cancer just breathing the air in here, he thought.

A long bar with 4 stools was situated up front with several red seated booths on the side. Behind the bar was a murky long mirror with a shelf of beers and other drinks the business had to offer. In other words, it felt like home for Sam.

Sam looked longingly at the varieties of beer. He felt like a fox in the hen house, only he wasn't allowed any of the hens. Especially the cool, tall draft hens.

He sauntered over and grabbed a stool. Sam had been carrying a clipboard and placed it on the bar counter. His undercover prop.

Two stools over sat a bedraggled man, who could easily double as a homeless person. Wearing a rumpled jacket, unkempt torn hat and worn-down tennis shoes, he acknowledged Sam by lifting his drink.

"Hey," said Sam.

Sam Axe, Mr. Smooth Conversationalist.

The din of the place could not cover its squalid conditions. Although the actual counter had been clear of debris, on closer inspection, there was a stickiness to it. Sam decided not to touch anything else and was glad he would not be ordering a drink. It would probably make him radioactive.

The bartender with the nametag "Fred" came by to see what Sam wanted to order. To Sam, the name "Fred" was rather ironic being that the bartender looked very much like Fred Flintstone—if Fred Flintstone looked more thug-like.

Sam was tempted to order a beer, despite it possibly being radioactive, but he had to keep his wits about him.

He knew this was the bar shown in Maddie's photo, so perhaps this place was a key in finding the bank robber Tom Turner.

"Good day. My name is Charles Finley," said Sam, improvising, "and I am a supervising agent for AT and T. We have reason to believe that one of your customers by the name of..." Sam 'checked' his clipboard, ".._Turner_...has been making illegal cell phone calls from your place of business."

"Huh?"Fred the bartender looked puzzled, "And what's wrong with using a cell phone in here? This is a free country!"

_Damn_, Sam thought to himself.

Usually when he identified himself to be an official in some capacity and also threw in the word "illegal" somewhere, the other person would start yapping like an abandoned dog.

He hadn't had time to think up a good back-story since he had been rushed to move to a motel with Mike, Maddie, and Fi. He figured he'd just grab his old clipboard and let his talent do the rest.

Plus rack of beers _was _a distraction, too, he rationalized.

To give himself more time to think, Sam made a big gesture of looking at his watch, scowling. He hoped the bartender would get the fact that Chuck Finley was short on time and had to get back to the office.

Sam Axe. Method Actor.

Fred appeared perturbed. He wasn't buying the act. Sam better come up with a plan, and _fast_.

"Okay, without getting too technical, I will give you the short of it," Sam was talking fast, "As you know, with our cell phones, there have been a problem with disconnected calls. At AT and T, we have installed monitoring devices in our cell phones to insure certain airwaves in business areas were not being overused. That's the reason why calls were being disconnected—overworked airwaves. Our monitoring device WK402 detected that this Turner guy has been continually using your airwaves to make private calls, when he could be making them outside or in other business establishments. Now if you can tell me…"

But the bartender threw up his hands.

"Hey, Mister, I don't know _what the hell_ you're talking about. Overused airspace?" He eyed Sam as if he was testing the veracity of Sam's words, "I never heard of an electronic device that...that checks airwaves!" He shook his head and decided Sam was up to no good. " Makes no sense at all. _Ridiculous,_ in fact. So I think we're done here. In other words, _get out_!"

To further emphasize his point, Fred reached underneath the counter and produced a baseball bat.

"Hey!... whoa... _whoa, right there_!" Sam held his hands protectively in front of him, "I _hope_ the reason you are displaying that bat is because you want me to join your powder puff softball league. 'Cause otherwise, buddy, threatening a phone company official is a federal offense. You might want to think about that and put that bat away _now_!"

Fred considered Sam's words. It took a while before he grudgingly set aside the wooden bat, as Sam secretly breathed a sigh of relief.

But Fred still looked outraged.

"I don't know what your game is," Fred growled, "but just get the hell out of here!"

Sam jotted some notes down on his clipboard as he shook his head.

"O-_kay..._ but headquarters isn't going to like this report…" Sam warned, "especially after I check the box here that says: _unfriendly sports fan._"

Fred disgustedly walked off to wait on a group of three seated in one of the red booths.

Sam disappointedly stood up and got ready to leave.

"Psst, Guy, over here." It was the homeless man.

Sam was tempted to ignore him, but he glanced over the man's way.

The homeless man looked furtively about.

"Is it true?" the man 's voice was low, as he didn't want to be overheard, " Did your device WK402 really detect Tom Turner making those illegal calls?"

Homeless knew Turner's _first_ name. He had Sam's attention now.

"So you know this individual… this Tom Turner guy?" Sam asked in a hushed tone.

He nodded.

"Sure do. Fred and Turner hang out together. But my inside voice tells me Turner's bad news."

Sam bet this guy had _several_ inside voices in his head.

"Go on," encouraged Sam.

"I don't know if I should continue..." Homeless whisppered, with mistrust in his voice, "Being that I don't know _you_ from a rat's behind!"

Sam unfolded a twenty dollar bill.

"How about if I quench your thirst for you, then?" appealed Sam.

Homeless smiled, showing crooked, yellowed teeth.

"Well, now... _maybe_ I know more...but...how do I even know you're for real? You got an official AT and T identification card on you?"

_Why am I not believed_? Sam thought, to himself, how cynical is the world when people won't believe _a complete stranger_?

Sam leaned forward, but not too much forward, as he didn't want to get a whiff of the guy. Sam looked covertly about, as if he was revealing a grand secret.

"Look, Buddy," Sam whispered, "You've heard me say I was an _agent_ for AT and T. That means we work secretly, _okay_? In disguise. Camouflaged. _Incognito to the max_. I'm so deep undercover, I don't even carry my ID—in case I get caught. You know what I mean?"

Homeless' eyes were large as he nodded gravely.

Sam smiled confidently. Someone out there should be polishing an Oscar statuette for him.

"Gotcha, gotcha," said Homeless and then privately answered, "all I can tell you is that Turner meets with Fred and two other guys every Tuesday like clockwork at 9 pm. They always sit in that way back booth. Real hush-hush talking going on. And I bet Fred knows all about that WK402 stuff already, but he's just playing dumb."

So _now_ Sam knew the gang consisted of four guys, AND he knew where and when they usually would meet.

"Thanks, buddy, and for the record—I don't think Fred is _playing_ dumb at all," Sam said with an easygoing smile, as he placed $20 on the bar counter.

Sam Axe, master of info-gathering. He was too good for this job.

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**_Please review._**


	15. Chapter 15

Michael and Madeline's little adventure

Chapter 15

The four had checked into the Gables Inn Motel, just off the 1 highway. Except for the color of the paint, the brick-colored motel looked like any other motel that littered the traveling highways of Miami.

The room was a deluxe double queen size room, simply furnished with dark cherry wood furniture. The only "luxury" in the room being the mini bar with refrigerator, request courtesy of Sam.

Sam had returned from Dewey's bar and the four of them were seated around the dark wooden round table in the hotel room. They were discussing planting a listening device in Turner's booth at Dewey's Bar. Maybe then they could listen in on his future plans.

But as they sat around the table, Michael, Sam and Fi realized that installing a bug was not their biggest problem at the moment.

Their biggest problem now was that Madeline was feeling restless. She had thought she would be part of the "operation", but so far, she had nothing to do.

Michael tried to reason with her.

"Ma, these people are ruthless," Michael tried to explain, "we can't have you running around with four criminals chasing after you. You have in your possession the only proof that Turner is still alive. And Turner knows who you are. He's a very dangerous man."

But Madeline did not see it that way. She stuck out her lower lip to show her displeasure.

"Michael, Didn't this all begin with the photo in _my_ purse? I was involved _then_. Now the three of you have decided to put that listening thing-a-ma-jig in without involving me whatsoever. Just say you don't need me, that I'm just useless. _You think I am in the way_."

She looked absolutely miserable. Fi tried to give comforting words.

"Madeline, that's not it _at all_! It's just that we are the experts. We know how to do these things."

Madeline folded her arms in frustration.

"Well, I could be an expert, too!" Maddie insisted, "But how can I learn how to whack a table in a guy's face or sock someone in an elevator, if I'm not given the chance?" She turned away from Fi.

Maddie makes a good point, Fi," Sam said mischievously, "It's true. How can she properly learn how to knock someone out with furniture or pummel someone against the wall, without some practice? Go ahead and explain that to her, Fi. I want to hear the explanation, too." Then he moved away lightening quick so that Fi could do him no harm.

The situation was getting worse, Michael sighed.

A spy needs to keep each and every operative happy or things will not run smoothly.

Madeline was looking at him like he just shot a newborn bunny. He couldn't bear it. Michael stood up.

"Come on, Ma," said Michael.

Madeline's face lit up.

"Do you mean it, Michael? Are we going on a mission together?" she asked innocently, her voice a whole octave higher.

"Yes, Ma," announced Michael, "our mini refrigerator needs restocking. We are going on a mission to the market."

"Yogurt!" reminded Fi.

"Beer!" interjected Sam.

But Madeline's face fell.

"You're not fooling me, Michael. That's not what I had in mind, _at all_," she said, her shoulders drooping.

"But Ma, if you go with me, I'll drive by Dewey's Bar," promised Michael, "and who knows?" He left the last part of the question open-ended as he held up the listening device for her to see.

Madeline's face showed hope, "I could do with some cigarettes, anyway."

-0-

Michael and Madeline had completed their shopping. They were driving away from the market, the grocery bags stowed safely in the back seat. In theory, they were on their way to Dewey's Bar. Of course, Michael did not plan on actually going there with his mother. Too risky. When the time came, he would make up a good excuse.

Michael drove on as Madeline talked about nothing in particular.

If _nothing- in- particular_ equaled Fiona.

"She's a _very_ special girl, you know, Michael, " Madeline said.

"Yes, _I know_, Ma," Michael said, trying to keep his cool. He knew the next thing she was going to say would be along the lines of if he didn't act quickly, someone else would snatch her right up.

"If you don't act quickly, Michael, "she next said, "someone else will snatch her right up."

"Ma, don't you think my personal life should be just that- _personal_?" asked Michael, knowing that asking her not to meddle is like asking a spy not to keep secrets.

I'm just concerned,Michael. I don't want you to miss your opportunity with Fi. After all, Fiona is such a _sweet- bonnie- lass_!" Madeline tried to say the last part with an Irish lilt.

"Ma, that phrase is Scottish, not Irish," cited Michael.

Madeline looked at him.

"_Can we ever talk without you contradicting me, Michael_?"

He wondered what it would feel like if he bashed his head against the steering wheel.

As Michael drove on, he became distracted by a suspicious vehicle on the road. He could see from his mirrors that a red pickup was tailing him.

Michael purposely made a right turn, and the red pickup did the same. Michael tried a random left, and from the mirror, he saw the red truck following close behind. It was as if the image of the red pickup truck was glued to his rear view and side mirrors.

The safest thing Michael could do right now was to get back on a main road. After all, bad guys don't like witnesses, so the more people on the road, the better. He turned back on the main highway.

"Michael, this isn't the way to Dewey's Bar _or_ the motel," Madeline pointed out.

"I realize that, Ma, but we have a situation here." Michael said calmly, trying not to alarm her.

He looked over his shoulder and noticed two imposing figures in the cab of the pickup. The red pickup truck seemed to be picking up speed.

Not good.

Next, Michael heard the loud revving of the other vehicle's engine, signaling impending danger.

Michael glanced in his rear view mirror and the image of the pickup truck loomed larger as the roaring of the truck's engine became increasingly louder. The distance between the two vehicles was decreasing.

Michael readied his mother and himself for impact.

"Ma, we are going to be hit from behind, so _hold on tight_!" Michael warned to a stunned Madeline as he kept his hands steady on the steering wheel.

"What? What is happening, Michael? What does 'Hold on tight' even mean? Is that spy lingo?" asked Madeline, "Because that's another thing you didn't-"

She never finished.

BAM-CRUNCH! The front of the truck smashed into the back of Michael's car. Both Michael and Madeline were jerked instantly forward, headed towards the dashboard. However, their secured seatbelts stopped their forward momentum as their backs were slammed back into the car seats.

"Michael! Michael!" panicked Madeline, as she clutched onto her straw purse for dear life.

But Michael was not as worried as his mother. He had his gun, after all. Timing, it was all about the timing. The red truck was obviously in striking distance now. It was time to even the playing field.

"Don't worry, Ma," stated a cool and collected Michael.

A spy must always be prepared...eh, just like a boy scout.

Michael readily opened his glove compartment to grab his gun.

He continued driving, looking straight ahead at the traffic, as his hand searchingly patted the entire area of the opened compartment.

No gun.

"_Ma_…" Michael began, as dread began to spread, "Where's my gun?"

"Oh, Michael, you _know_ how I _hate_ guns, so naturally, I left yours at the hotel," Madeline explained.

And **_that_** is why spies do not bring their mothers on missions. Even shopping missions.

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_Please review_


	16. Chapter 16

"Mr. Toad's Wild Ride"

Chapter 16

As they drove on, the pickup truck was still following close behind.

The oldest and longest of the highways in Florida, Highway 1 ran along the entire coast of Miami. It was a four lane divided highway, with flowing traffic on both sides. Motor lodges and motels mostly dotted the area along the highway, leaving behind debris and potholes. The worn road was definitely in need of repairs.

Michael could not believe he was in the middle of a car chase on a bumpy highway without his gun. He tried to weave in and out of traffic, but soon the cars had dwindled to just a few as the portion of the highway became sparse of people and businesses.

Michael knew he could not go all outlandish and drive to the extreme to get away. To risk his life was one thing, but there was his mother. Therefore, the red truck was able to pursue closely behind, no problem.

Michael and Madeline heard the revving of the engine. Once again the truck began accelerating towards them. They heard the screech of the tires just before impact. But this time they were ready and braced themselves for another hit from behind.

The truck rammed into the backside of their vehicle.

SLAM-BAM-eeeeck!

Michael and Madeline were jerked forward once more, even harder. This time the truck managed to push Michael's car a few hundred yards before Michael was able to dislodge himself by flooring the pedal.

Michael was preoccupied, thinking about possible escape routes. Madeline watched him, feeling terrified. Although, Michael appeared composed, she noted beads of sweat coming to the surface of his forehead.

As Madeline sat back, helpless, another feeling began to surface. Anger. And it continued to build deep inside her. _Anger._ She was tired of being pushed around. First her no- good husband, and then that beady-eyed bald headed guy and now this!

She was now a strong, independent woman, not like before. She didn't need Michael to always come to her rescue! In fact, she should be shielding _her son_ from these bullies!

She started to unbuckle her seatbelt.

"Ma!" Michael yelled, as he hastily turned to watch her before looking straight ahead again, "_What the hell are you doing_? SIT DOWN AND BUCKLE UP!"

"Not on your life, Michael" It's time for payback!" Madeline said as she pressed the 'down' lever of her window.

Instantly they were bombarded with a forceful wind bellowing throughout their front seat compartment. A napkin Michael had left on the dashboard quickly was whisked off from its resting place, whirling all about before disappearing outside the window.

The strong gust howled noisily in their ears. The wind was powerful, madly whipping their hair all about their faces.

"_Ma! What are you doing?_" Despite the blustery conditions, Michael was really sweating now as his eyes darted back and forth between watching the traffic and wondering what his mother was up to.

As the wind whooshed about, Madeline decisively reached behind her for the grocery bag in the back seat. When she turned back around, she had in her hands two soup cans.

"I'm going to show these Bozos, the old Westen pitching arm!" she yelled, but her words were swallowed up by the wind.

Michael could only watch in horror as Madeline thrust her upper body outside the opened window, with one of the soup cans secured in her left hand. She used her right hand to steady herself against the frame of the window as well as from the blustery wind. The fast, rushing gale acted like a mini tornado. It was hard for Madeline to maintain her balance as her blouse billowed loosely in the tempestuous air currents.

"Ma! Don't do it!" But with the chaotic wind blowing, along with her adrenaline rushing, Madeline could not hear Michael's shouts behind her.

Madeline found it hard to balance herself against the blasting air, but she was determined. With the can in her hand, she brought her arm back and catapulted the soup can the best she could in the direction of the red truck.

The can went sailing as the truck swerved in surprise at the oncoming object. The flying soup can bashed the hood of the red truck. CLUNK! She immediately followed it up with another can. This time it hit the windshield. CLENK! The red truck swerved even more, this time the tires screeching.

Madeline came back in the cab to reload with more soup cans.

Madeline's movements were difficult, as the wind continued to swirl strongly in all directions against the cab of their car.

"Stop this, Ma! I cannot _believe_ you are hitting them with **_soup cans_**!" Michael yelled over the forceful wind.

"D_on't worry, Michael!_" she yelled above the wind's noise, "…**_They were on sale_!**"

Michael turned to look at his mom.

CLUNK! CLUNK! CLUNK!

The cans were flying fast and furious now. His mother was getting better with each toss, as the pickup was bombarded with soup cans. She had even stopped calling them soup cans and referred to them as loading up with more "_ammo_."

Inside the car, the blasts of air blustered continually.

"Just as I figured, Michael," shouted his mother, at one point, as she viewed the damage her soup cans had made, "the _cream_ soups make a bigger dent than the _broth_ ones!"

The swirling gust continued. Their clothes were whipping back and forth against the strong windy currents.

Michael had stopped protesting. The flinging of the cans actually seemed to be a quick fix as the gap between them and the red truck widened.

But up ahead was trouble.

Michael was coming to a stale yellow light. He had to stop, due to the cross traffic.

When he came to a halt, the winds instantly ceased, bringing an eerie calmness to the interior of their car.

Unfortunately, the lane to the right of him was clear of cars and the red truck menacingly pulled up and stopped directly to the right of them.

"Ma, I WANT YOU TO ROLL UP YOUR WINDOW AND DUCK AS LOW AS YOU CAN," advised Michael.

"Are you kidding, Michael? We have them right where we want them!" Madeline retorted, her confidence now flourishing.

Michael watched as Madeline reached in the back for the grocery bag again.

She turned back around...and this time produced an extra large plastic bottle of maple syrup.

Michael knew better than to stop his mom at this point. Madeline appeared to be reading the label of the syrup container. She looked up at him with a grin.

"This here says that it has an easy-to-use squirt top...I guess we'll just see about that!"

In the meantime, the red truck had lowered its window on the driver side. The driver of the red pickup was a middle-aged man with saggy jowls and fat lips, resembling a toad.

With both hands free, Madeline brought the bottle up to the window and aimed at the driver of the pickup truck.

Toad man had reached down to bring up his gun. But before he could get it in position, his eyes opened wide at what he saw.

He was staring down at the squirt top of a big container of gooey syrup that in a split second would be splattered all over his car.

Toad man hastily pressed the lever to bring his window up. Madeline turned to say something to Michael, her bottle still in firing position.

"Aren't you glad I bought the family size, Michael?" she stated, before swiftly turning back around to face the enemy.

She had a mission to complete.

"FIRE IN THE HOLE...ONE!" she yelled, as she squeezed the container with all her might. Like a fireman with his firehose, the sticky substance shot out of its container, hitting its intended target, the truck driver's side window.

SA-WOOSH-WHOOSH-SPLAT

She continued to spray, making a large circle outline on Toad man's window with the gummy mixture and then filling it in.

The maple syrup drenched the red truck's window, one-fourth of it spilling into the interior, as the window had not closed up completely on time. The liquid left an icky brown residue.

"FIRE IN THE HOLE... TWO!" Madeline went for a second strong squeeze.

SA-WOOOSH-WHOOSH-SPLAT

The window was now almost completely covered with the hard-to-wash-off substance. It would be a mess to clean up.

There was silence followed by: CLENK! CLENK! Two more soup cans were propelled against Toad's window. There was the beginning of a crack on the window forming.

"That's for bullying my son!" yelled Madeline to the gooey-covered window.

Green light.

Michael's car tires screeched as he floored the accelerator and they proceeded on.

After driving a ways, Michael glanced in the mirror. The pickup truck was nowhere in sight. He couldn't believe they had made their close escape. And it was all due to his mother.

"Ma, I was wrong," admitted Michael as he continued driving, "you ARE part of this mission."

But Madeline either was not listening or chose not to respond to Michael. She was busily inspecting the insides of both grocery bags, rummaging through the remaining items.

"_Geez, _how will I be able to make my chipped beef _now_?" Madeline asked herself out loud as she searched for any surplus soup cans in the bag. It was obvious the promised trip to Dewey's bar was all but forgotten.

Michael shook his head and even managed a slight smile as he headed back to the motel.

Madeline Westen.

Souper-mom.

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.

_Warning: **Read this for entertainment purposes and not for realism**! Ha!_

_My longest chapter!_

_(Let me know if I made you smile, because this was my most fun chapter to write!)_

**_Please review._**


	17. Chapter 17

Team Michael/ Fiona.

Chapter 17

Michael dropped off his mother at the motel, who excitedly told Sam and Fi about their little adventure. He caught tidbits of her car chase story where she claimed that 'weaponized' syrup required strong fingers, and 'cream of celery' soup really packed 'a wallop'! The last thing he heard his mother say before he left was that if she was ever to go on a mission again, she would stock up on those big Italian sauce jars.

Now that his mom was distracted, Michael decided to go on his own to Dewey's Bar. He was going to plant a listening device in Turner's special red booth.

Dewey's Bar was located on Alton Street, two blocks from the beach. It stood alongside other ramshackle businesses in a rundown strip mall.

Michael never made it inside the bar, however. As he approached the entrance to the bar, he felt the cold barrel of a gun on his back.

"Don't turn around," the mystery voice warned harshly.

"What do you want?" Michael asked.

"Shut up and raise your hands..." the ominous voice said, as another person quickly searched Michael for a weapon, "Now _move_…over to the back of the building."

A spy knows being forced to go behind a building is _never a_ good sign.

With the gun jabbed in his back the entire way, they had arrived at the secluded area. The back part of the bar was wide with dead grass and weeds everywhere. Michael noted the overloaded dumpster. The stench was overwhelming.

"Turn around slowly, Asshole."

Michael lowered his hands and when he turned around, he was facing two dangerous-looking faces.

He remembered Toad man from the car chase. And 'Toadie' definitely looked angry after the damage done to his truck. The other guy was probably Macho man, the switchblade expert Sam had encountered earlier at his mom's house.

Toadie had a Magnum pointed at him as Michael spoke up.

"_So why did you bring me at gunpoint to the back of Dewey's Bar?_" Michael asked, rather loudly. There was a reason why he had asked such a strange question. Before approaching the bar, Michael had speed dialed Fi's cell phone and then left the phone on, so that Fi could hear their conversation and know of his location.

Fi would need time to get here. He needed to stall for time.

"_You _don't ask the questions. _We do_," Toadie said, "So you a cop or something?"

"Something," answered Michael.

Toadie tsked, tsked. then he made a head signal to his partner. Macho man reached out and punched Michael in the stomach.

"Oomph!"

Fortunately, Michael had anticipated the hit. The punch wasn't as painful as he had made it out to be. It was an act, sort of. Michael was able to tighten his stomach muscles and bend a little more, taking away the brunt of the hit. But not enough, for it _did_ hurt him.

"Wait...wait..."said Michael as he held out one arm to gesture a wait, "Okay...I'm not a cop."

The two men waited as Michael tried to buy more time.

"Look, I'm just a guy going into a bar...What do you know? That almost sounded like the beginning of a joke..."

"..._Stop wasting time and just tell us who you are, goddamn it_!" Macho man was getting impatient.

Oh, so let's see...you want to know who I am? Well, I am someone..asking... for donations," Michael cringed slightly, knowing it would cost him another punch, "you see..."

"Yeah…_blood_ donations!" interrupted Toadie, snickering, as he elbowed his partner, who joined in the merriment.

Without warning, Macho man reached out and landed another punch at Michael in the same exact area.

"Oooomph!"

This time Michael hunched over in pure agony. He hadn't anticipated that punch so quickly. And so hard. The guy was all muscles.

_Hurry, Fi_!

Toadie now spoke up.

"My friend here is losing patience with you, as you can see," he explained, pointing with the gun, "_now_, if it was up to me, I'd just shoot you dead. I haven't forgotten about out little car tag. But my friend insists he wants some info before we end our little friendship. So if you hurt before you die, I think, _why the hell not_?"

"Right... Right." agreed Michael, heaving a bit, "I get it. You want... to know who am I. You want... to get the photo. Okay, I'm ready to talk... Just let me get some air...those two punches hurt _a lot!_" Michael made a big deal of breathing in and out.

Toadie turned to his friend, with the gun still steadily pointed at Michael.

"See, Max," he said to Macho man "I told you he would eventually be cooperative."

Toadie turned to face Michael again, "So talk, Asshole."

A spy should never give away _everything_ that he knows, but if he must confess, he should sprinkle some truth in with the lies to make it sound more believable. After all, a spy never knows how much the enemy knows. And to be caught in a lie...well, that would be deadly.

"Okay," Michael started explaining, "The photo had been secretly planted in my mother's purse by a private investigator. I'm just a regular joe who is trying to protect his mother. As for where the photo is, I had placed it underneath the-"

Purposely, Michael never finished his sentence. They would not expect a person to just stop talking in the middle of a sentence. He wanted to catch the two thugs off guard.

Michael's move was sudden and unanticipated.

In mid-sentence he reached out and roundhouse kicked the gun out of Toadie's hand. Toadie's mouth formed an 'O' of surprise. He stared at his hand as though he thought the gun would just suddenly reappear in his hand.

Michael then quickly followed it up with a sidekick, using the strong bone in his heel for a high sideways kick to Toadie's abdomen, as Toadie bent over in pain.

With him out of commission, Michael then beckoned Macho man forward.

"I'm ready to tango," Michael gestured with a wave.

Macho man sneered.

"_He's all mine,_" he said to his injured partner as he moved closer.

The strong man lunged forward, his thick hands reaching for Michael's neck. Michael remained motionless until the last possible second. Then his hand formed into a spear. He quickly jabbed deep and quick at the big man's larynx, a very vulnerable place in the body to strike.

Macho man actually made a gurgling sound, like he was drowning, as his hand intuitively reached up to his throat. Then Michael ducked low and whipped his foot around Macho Man's leg, bringing the big man down.

Meanwhile, Toadie had recovered. He lurched towards Michael.

Michael's knee landed squarely in Toadie's groin. Toadie made a noise like he was sipping a straw through an almost-empty glass. He folded like an old wallet.

A split second later, Macho man was back up and came rushing towards Michael. As Michael turned to give Macho man another roundhouse kick, he could see Toadie in his peripheral vision.

Toadie had picked up the gun from the ground and was pointing it directly at Michael, just as Macho man went down.

And Michael was once more facing down the barrel of a gun. Only this time Toadie was done asking questions.

"Adios, _Asshole_," Toad man said, an evil smile spreading across his face.

Toadie cocked the gun.

FWOOP! FWOOP!

The last thought that entered Michael's mind when the gun went off was that the big .44 Magnum strangely sounded like a silencer.

Michael was surprised he was still standing after the firing of the weapon.

He watched as blood dripped down the corner of Toadie's mouth and nose as the guy collapsed to the ground. Michael looked down as the body lay motionless on the ground.

Michael focused up to where Toadie had previously stood. There he saw, a few feet back, Fiona standing steadily with a newly-fired silencer in both her hands.

"A gun in the hand is worth two dead in the bush," she stated, slightly changing the famous quote.

Michael's eyes sparkled at Fiona's presence. She looked absolutely sexy with an opened stance and the silencer in her hands.

She was in the zone now and turned to point the gun at Macho man.

"Hey, lady, stop! Don't do it!" Macho man begged from down on the ground. He looked scare out of his wits.

"Just to let you know, I rarely fire warning shots," stated Fi, as cool as a cucumber.

"Hey, man, talk to her!_ Talk to her_!" pleaded Macho man to Michael.

"Perhaps you should let him go, Fi," Michael suggested.

Fi looked as if she was deliberating.

"Hmmm...I'm going to count to five, "warned Fi, "and if you are not gone by _four_, you will never hear _five_."

Macho man got up and started running backwards, still holding out his hands, palms facing them. "All of you are crazy…just _cra-zy!_" He then turned and ran at top speed as fast as he could.

Fi tipped her silencer up and pretended to blow away the smoke, like a sheriff would do in the Western days.

"Thanks, Fi," said Michael gratefully.

"My _pleasure_, Michael, "said Fiona, and she really meant it, "it's smart of you to leave your cell phone on so I could easily locate you."

"Well, we better leave here before we're found with this dead body," said Michael, observing the still body.

"My sentiments, exactly," agreed Fi, looking coldly at the body before looking back fondly at Michael, "Why don't we go inside the bar to plant the bug _together_?"

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_(For my international friends: the proverb "a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush" means it is better to have something that is certain than take a risk to get more and lose everything.)_

**_Please review._**


	18. Chapter 18

Michael has 'the luck of the Irish'

Chapter 18

Michael and Fiona stepped into Dewey's bar. They were here to plant the listening device in the booth in the back.

It took a while for Michael's eyes to adjust to the musty room. The place was just as Sam described it except it made a dive look like the bar at the Four Seasons Hotel.

The place was deplorable. Anything broken or cracked like a mirror, chair or light fixture was left in its fragmented condition. A dilapidated bar counter sat amidst the tacky plastic wood panels of the walls. The smell of stale cigarettes lingered in the air.

Fred the bartender looked up when Michael and Fi first entered. He focused on Michael and his expression turned to one of shocked recognition followed by controlled anger. Not a good look for anyone, especially someone connected to nefarious activities such as robbing banks.

Spies are intuitive. If something doesn't feel right, stay with that feeling.

Michael saw as the bartender reached down for something behind the counter. The hairs on the back of Michael's neck stood straight up. Michael quickly grabbed Fi's arms at her sides and whirled her towards the exit door.

"Mi-_chael_!" Fi sounded exasperated.

"We-need-to-go-Fi," he said in one breath, as he escorted her out the door towards the car, "I think our cover has been blown."

Sure enough, as Michael and Fi got into the car, Michael turned in time to see Fred dashing out of the bar with a bat in his hand. Looking in both directions, Fred spotted them and rushed over to Michael's Charger.

The engine of Michael's car rattled slightly as he attempted to back up his car, but didn't get very far. From the back window, he spotted Fred standing steadfastly, blocking their way. Michael was unable to maneuver the vehicle without hitting Fred.

" YOU CAN GO TO HELL!" They heard Fred's blaring voice from outside, looking furious. Michael and Fi observed as Fred next brought the bat back and powerfully swung at one of the backlights of Michael's car.

There was the sound of broken glass.

_Kerplink-ink._

Meanwhile, Michael's car continued rattling as it sat idling, going nowhere fast.

_"Just back up, Michael! You need to get out of here!_" Fi yelled, not caring if Michael hit the bartender or not.

Fred continued taking out his frustrations by next pounding the exterior body of Michael's car with his bat.

_Phunt. Phunt. _Phunt.__

They felt the vibrations of the strikes inside the interior of the vehicle.__  
><em>_

Intuitively, Fi reached for her gun. Michael clutched his hands over her weapon, holding it fast, and not allowing Fi to bring it up.

"_Michael_!" Fi attempted to yank it from his strong hold, "He's bashing your car to pieces! If you're not going to back the car up on him, then_ I_ will do something!"

Of course, Michael would not run over the guy, but as Fred continued hammering his car, Michael had to do something or his car would soon look like scraped metal.

_Phunt. _

Another blow to his car.

Michael shifted in drive before going back into reverse as the engine went from rattling to humming. He then engaged his emergency parking brake and gradually floored the accelerator. The engine went from humming to whirring, as the sound became incessantly louder.

V_vroooomm._..**V_vroooomm._._.rooooom..._**

The car tires spun speedily, yet the vehicle itself remained stationary. Loose gravel from the decrepit parking area flew up from the tires' fast rotation.

Tchinkle, tchinkle, tchinkle...

Fred lifted his hands up to guard his eyes from the attacking pebbles. The crushed rocks flew in all directions, forcing Fred to step aside.

This allowed Michael the freedom to shift into reverse and back up, before putting the car into drive. They made a quick exit, the last sound heard was the echo of his screeching tires.

Michael looked in the rear view mirror and saw the broken glass from his car light scattered on the street, along with Fred angrily holding up his bat and cursing.

Fi had been looking out the back window, too. Her eyebrows came together in puzzlement.

"Michael," said Fi, turning back around to face front, "why were we so popular with the welcoming committee back there? I don't understand..."

"The way I see it, " Michael cut in, as he drove on, "Fred the bartender must have been a passenger in the red truck during that car chase with my mom. I vaguely remembered seeing another person in that vehicle but I couldn't be sure, what with all the soup cans being tossed about."

"No, Michael, I didn't finish my sentence. What I meant when I stated: ' I don't understand', is... if you weren't going to run over the guy, I don't understand why I couldn't use my gun on him."

"_Fi_, the _answer_ to any situation is not always a gun."

"I realize that a gun is not _always_ the answer, Michael. Sometimes a gun is the _question_; as in: 'May I use my gun _now_?"

Michael gave her a double look as he drove on. Between his mom's soup can bombardment and Fi's random weapon usage, he felt he was in the middle of guerrilla warfare.

"So, then, Michael, what's our next move?"

Michael wasn't sure. They were unable to install a listening device at the bar and the four of them were now recognizable to Turner's gang.

Yet on_ their_ side, they only knew the names of Turner's gang as Macho man, Toadie and Fred. Not exactly full name identifications, to be sure. Oh, and thanks to Fi blasting Toadie off the face of the earth, they now had one less bank robber to worry about.

"If you had let me use my gun back there, we could have had _two_ less bank robbers to worry about!" she stated, as she folded her arms in annoyance.

Michael regarded her with a slight surprise. His internal speculation about one less bank robber to worry about, along with her added comment of possibly _two_ less bank robbers to worry about, was like one continuous thought process. Similar to what couples did when they finished each other's sentences. Strange.

But enough armchair psychology. Right now Michael needed to focus on their present situation.

Spies do a lot of preparation work. They strategized like in a game of chess, always three steps ahead of the opponent. Pre-planning is necessary if a mission is to be successful.

But in rare cases, a forward move is not possible. It becomes checkmate for the spy. Like in this situation. That's when spies must depend on something called luck.

He could sure do with some now.

After driving a ways, Michael observed an intriguing motel just off of Biscayne Road. Fi followed Michael's eyes over to the motel's sign.

The name "Motel Rendezvous" was highlighted in red cursive lettering.

Underneath the name of the business were the words: "Rent by the day. Or by the hour."

The blinking sign seemed to cater to couples interested in indiscreet, sordid activities. The lighted red letters on the sign seemed to be the only thing working, however, for the cheap-looking motel behind it was obviously in disrepair.

"Michael, did you see the words underneath that sign?...rent by the hour... " commented Fi, as she pointed at the sign before they past it, "I wonder what you can do there for just an hour?"

She ended the question with a flirtatious lilt while at the same time turning to give Michael a mischievous smirk.

But her slight grin disappeared when Michael made a u-turn and drove into the driveway of the shabby motel's main parking lot. From the parking area, the place appeared even more run-down and seedy. He parked his car near the small yellow lit sign that read "office."

What could be on Michael's mind _now_?

"Michael…" Fi started, as all kinds of thoughts entered her mind, 'I didn't mean for us to..."

"Fi…" interrupted Michael, "…take a look at the parking stall across the way."

Fiona looked around and noticed near one of the overgrown bushes, the parked red truck. The front grill had been bashed in, with several dents on the hood. One side of the window had smeared brown goo on it. This was definitely the red truck Turner's thugs had been driving.

Of course,_ that_ would be why Michael would pull up to a fleabag motel like this, Fiona thought, half- disappointedly. Just as she knew the case would always get first priority. But at least they were in it _together._

He parked the car.

"Care to help me investigate, Fi?"

Another chance for action. Fi brightened up considerably.

"I'd thought you'd never asked, Michael, " she responded as she surveyed the surrounding area, " I think this total dump definitely holds possibilities!"

Luck truly comes to people in all different ways, even sleazy ways, Michael thought, as he took another look at the tawdry place known as Motel Rendezvous.

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_(a short note: Immediately after posting this,I will be away for a short time on a mini vacation...would be nice if I came back to some reviews-please? Will post the minute I get back, I promise!)_

_Preview for next chapter: Michael and Fi go undercover! Don't miss it!_

**_Please review_**


	19. Chapter 19

Michael and Fi go undercover.

Chapter 19

Michael and Fi had accidentally stumbled across where Tom Turner the bank robber was staying.

The Motel Rendezvous was, to put it nicely, a two-level dump. Weeds substituting as green shrubbery lined the sides and walkways. The walls looked unfinished, with that swirly swish of paint that was prevalent in cheap stucco. A soda machine with the words "Out of Order" guarded the entrance to the motel office.

Inside the small motel lobby office were the expected dark wood paneled walls, with a worn wooden counter. This design had been popular back in the 1970's. Michael was surprised the desk didn't have the typical bulletproof glass, another popular accessory of crime-ridden motels during that era. But then again, maybe criminals avoided this place too.

This was like if the Bates Motel landed smack dab in the middle of porn town.

They were alone in the small lobby. Fi looked around and focused on a sign at the desk.

"Oh, look, Michael, this _is_ a classy joint, after all," Fi half-whispered as she pointed to a desk sign that read "Concierge."

Concierge? At a shoddy place like this? Who were these people trying to fool? Michael thought.

"Let me handle this situation." Fi broke into his thoughts.

"What?" Michael asked.

"Follow my lead," Fi continued speaking in a low voice, despite the two of them being the only ones in the empty lobby.

Fiona in charge of the situation? Michael was about to protest, but, if it wasn't for Fi, he would be bleeding from a gunshot wound in the back of Dewey's Bar.

"Okay, Fi, but just be subtle."

Fi looked innocently at Michael, her beautiful green/blue eyes as large as saucers.

"Why, Michael, you should know that subtlety is my middle name."

Uh-oh.

"And remember, Fi, no gun."

"No gun, Michael, and I will be subtle. I promise."

Fi pounded on the desk bell at the counter.

Ding! Ding! Ding!

"_Hel-**lo**!_" Fi yelled out,"_Can we get some service here?"_

Yeah, softly subtle.

They could hear unhurried footsteps as a heavyset woman in her 50's with cat-eyed glasses, trudged out from a worn velvet curtain behind the counter.

"Welcome to the Motel Rendezvous," she said in a monotone, disinterested voice, "I am the manager of this fine establishment. My name is Trudy. Are you renting by the day or the hour?"

"By the half day, please," said Fi to a stunned Michael.

Fi improvising was like someone doing Russian roulette. You never knew what to expect-but you preferred the silence.

"Great…" responded Trudy with no enthusiasm, "and we take cash only."

As they conducted the transaction, Michael spoke up.

"We'd also like to request a room in a specific location, " requested Michael as he turned to look out the window, "…say, across the way from that red truck parked over there."

Trudy looked boringly out the window. Acknowledging the request, she then turned around to reach for one of the many keys that hung on the battered board behind her.

They had concluded the payment procedure and a room had been assigned.

Michael and Fi were now paying customers. This put them in a whole new light with Trudy. She now considered them human beings.

As Trudy handed the key to Michael, she got her first good look at him. She eyed him up and down, looking quite satisfied. Showing a friendlier side, she spoke to Fi as she nudged her head towards Michael.

"Well, well… looks like you've hooked yourself a handsome one, sweetie," she said to Fi, showing some expression besides the zombie-like demeanor she had pasted on previously.

"And he's rich, too." Fi continued to ad-libbed.

Trudy gave Michael a second look.

He tried to flash back a winning smile, which made Trudy tittered happily before turning back to Fiona.

"_You don't say_! Handsome _and_ he has bucks to boot? Then why are the two of you _here_, of all places?"

Fi turned to Michael, her eyes nudging him with a look that said, _She likes you, so_ p_ut on the Westen charm_! Michael glanced expressively back at Fi with a look that implied, _I hate this with a passion of a thousand suns!_

A spy can get out of a situation one of two ways: by using force or by charisma. Michael preferred the first, but thanks to Fi, he needed to utilize the second.

Michael turned back to Trudy with a forced smile, showing interest. He leaned over the counter and with a low voice, answered, "We've heard how this place offers great anonymity; if you know what I mean," followed by a playful wink at Trudy.

He hoped Trudy didn't think he had a tick. Because in a place like this, he almost did.

"Oooh…are you some sort of celebrity?" Trudy showed enthusiasm as she readjusted her glasses and zoomed in to take a better look at Michael.

"You might say that," piped in Fi.

Trudy's face was so close to Michael's now that it forced him to back off a little. He watched as Trudy's mouth curved into a satisfied smile and she giggled, which is hard to do when you are a 50-plus mature woman.

"A celebrity, eh? Wait!" she said excitedly, "Don't tell me...don't tell me..." Ideas seemed to float through her head as she suddenly snapped her fingers before looking back up at Michael and Fi. "I think I know! I know you! You're that actor... that movie actor...James something...uh..._James Franco_!"

Michael could have sworn he heard Fi snort. But when he turned to look at Fi, she had placed her index finger to her lips.

"Shh! Please, Trudy, we wouldn't want it to get around," Fi deadpanned. Michael gave her the I-can't-believe-you-said-that look.

Trudy looked as if she was ready to give the dance of joy.

"I knew it! _I knew it!_ I must say, though, Mr. Franco, you _do_ look different than you do on the big screen. You seem... taller... and thinner in person."

Michael didn't even blink as he responded.

"They always tell you the camera adds 10 pounds, which is the truth as you can see," Michael explained. "Another Hollywood secret is the camera also subtracts two inches from your height."

"You don't say!" Trudy hanging on every word.

Michael and Fi both nodded convincingly.

"I never realized the camera made such a difference!" Trudy remarked as she observed him again, "but then, what about..."

"-_And_ any other discrepancies in appearance would be due to camera angles," Fi added, now rushing the words, "Personally, I don't think the camera does justice to James...wouldn't you agree, Trudy?"

Trudy turned to examine him again. Michael reacted with a hopefully enchanting smile.

I-am-smiling-so-much-my-cheeks-hurt, Michael thought to himself.

When she nodded, her chin seemed to wobble, too. She looked at him with admiration.

"Yes, yes, I have to agree, Mr. Franco! You are definitely more handsome in person!"

"Can-we-just-go-to-our-room-please?" Michael asked through his smile.

Well, of course, Mr. Franco! And what a room it is! The room I've selected for you and your…eh…gal friend…is our special room with a view." She gave Michael a flirtatious smile that would give a five-year-old nightmares, "is there anything else I can do for you? _Anything_…"

Trudy's eyebrows actually went up and down.

"Yes, yes there is something very special you can do for me," said Michael, once more leaning in, "We are scouting shooting locations for a new movie I am starring in. Do you happen to know who owns that red truck over there? If you could tell us the owner's room number..."

Trudy's smile disappeared as she leaned back.

"That's a mighty strange question! I'm sorry Mr. Franco, I can't help you with that."

"Um…there's a reason he asked that," interjected Fi, "I am Mr. Franco's location scout person and we think a beat up red truck like that one would be _perfect_ for a scene we are filming that takes place… on a farm. It would help _Mr. Franco_ immensely."

Trudy looked back at Michael, debating in her head. Michael tried to give her his celebrity high- wattage smile.

Trudy stood up straight and recited her words as if by rote.

"I am sorry, but we at Motel Rendezvous know our clients use our services for a variety of activities and ask for privacy. We cannot divulge the names or room numbers of _any_ clients."

She then gave Michael sad puppy dog eyes before adding, "… not even for you, Mr. Franco."

Trudy sighed wistfully at Michael.

"Listen, you..." Fi was starting to sound agitated. Michael was resigned with not getting Turner's room number, but Fi obviously was not. It was time to make a quick exit. Michael whipped Fi around by the sides of her arms towards the front door.

Aggravated, Fi addressed Michael in a rushed voice that, unfortunately, was overheard, "Offer to her your great body!"

"_What_?" Trudy asked. With Fi's back to her, Trudy couldn't be sure she heard right, but she was highly interested.

"She said 'autographs for everybody'" yelled Michael over his shoulder as he continued pushing Fiona out the door. Next time he would let Fi use her gun. It was safer that way.

They would not be getting the answers from Trudy.

It looked like they would have to find the answers for themselves in the "room with a view."

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_Hi everyone! Thanks for all the wonderful reviews! I had a great time, but now I think it's time to finish up this story! A few more chapters, so please hang on a little longer!_

_As always,** please** review! _


	20. Chapter 20

The "room with a view"

Chapter 20

After signing in, they went to their designated room. Michael expected the room to be tacky, but it wasn't.

It was double tacky.

The color combination of the room was an ugly red and dark purple. Striped. The motel didn't even bother with a comforter for the lumpy queen size bed. Just a cover sheet with a strip of dark purple material at the foot of the bed. The carpet and curtains were also striped the same coordinating colors. At least the dark colors would hide any stains, Michael thought.

There was actually a picture hanging on the wall of a man and a woman in an intimate moment. It was either that or two pottery vases were skillfully placed, one reclined on top of the other.

The room's only other furniture was a nightstand, a plastic table with two chairs, and a TV set. All cheap furnishings. Michael instinctively looked up at the ceiling and, yes, there it was. A mirror on the ceiling.

There are some things that even spies find reprehensible. This room was beyond that.

But at least from the front window of their room, they had a clear view of the red truck.

Fi looked out the window where she would be able to watch the red truck. "Well, Trudy was right about one thing…this is a room with a view."

"We should feel lucky the window is clean enough for us to look out of, " observed Michael.

While Fi looked out the window, Michael was on the cell phone to update Sam on their progress. He also told Sam that after they checked out of here, Michael was determined that the four of them would move into a plush hotel. As he completed the talk, Michael looked around the seedy room. Money would be no object for their next place.

After the call, Michael flung his keys on the nightstand. The keys made a loud "clink!" before it slid off the short table. As Michael reached down to pick it up, his head accidentally hit hard on the edge of the table.

"Oooww!" said Michael as he held onto his forehead.

"Did you hurt yourself, Mr. Franco?" teased Fi as Michael gave her an exasperated look.

Fi walked over to where Michael sat on the bed. She touched the part of his forehead where he had banged it.

Michael inhaled sharply at the painful pressure.

"Yeow, careful, Fi," he said.

"Oh, don't be such a big baby, Michael," she stated.

However, this time she touched it gingerly.

"No open cut, at least," diagnosed Fi, appraising the entire area, "a little ice from the ice—that is to say, the broken 'icicle'- machine and you'll be as good as new. Just some tender, loving care is all you need, Michael."

Her feminine voice, mixed with a somewhat concerned tone, sent a ripple of sensation down Michael's spine. He looked into her face as she sat next to him. His nerves clamored with serious yearnings as memories of their last kiss together entered his mind. Unfortunately he also recalled how she had rejected him at the beach.

Although he understood her reasons for the rebuff, he could not stop his desire of her.

Their faces were very close. Michael experienced an odd sensation just watching her small, expressive face. Fi noted the shift in his thoughts. The raw glitter of masculine interest was not lost on her. She was unsure whether she could resist him this time. She swallowed nervously and his gaze flickered to the tiny movement of her neck.

Michael felt as if every muscle in his body was tightly bunched as he fought an inner battle with himself. His breathing had changed to a noticeably deeper, faster rhythm than usual.

Fi, too, recalled their last embrace. She truly missed the feel of him. Fi wasn't even aware that she had brought his hand up towards her mouth, until she felt his skin against her lips. Her puckered lips tenderly kissed the creased hollow of his palm. She felt Michael's body shiver at the intimate touch.

Then she placed her cheek against the rough contours of his palm, as she observed his reaction in feeling the softness of her face. There was an intensity in his look that unsettled her. They gazed at one another just like the time at the beach, each one hoping the results would be different this time.

As she brought their hands back down, Fi sought to say something, anything to break the silence.

"Michael," it came out like an unsure whisper, "we're suppose to be on surveillance."

Since the day she met him, Michael had always been about putting the mission first. Right now was an exception. He met her wide-eyed scrutiny with a look of desire in his eyes.

"You're right, Fi. We could stop whatever this is... and continue our surveillance, if that is what you want," Michael suggested gallantly, although he had to draw a very deep breath to control himself.

She liked that he would abide by her decision. Trying to sound blase, she replied, "Hmm...surveillance? For me, I could take it or leave it, Michael. What about you?"

She watched him closely for a response.

Michael fought the smile that pulled at his lips. Fi always acted so nonchalant, but beneath her devil-may-care attitude beat the heart of an exciting, sensual woman with true passions.

"Fi...right now, if it was up to me, I would say, 'd_amn the surveillanc_e!'" He countered with certainty. He watched her cautiously, optimism filling his heart.

"Then, Michael," her voice was low and sensual, "_let's not stop whatever this is_."

That was all he needed to hear. There was a catch in his breathing as he felt Fi reaching over to him. Her fingers slid around the back of his neck as she pulled him closer to her. Her lips softened in anticipation as his mouth descended on hers.

Michael kissed her hungrily, his tongue plunging and exploring her mouth, while she moaned his name. He steadied her, one arm sliding around her body. She was only aware of the delicious sensation of his mouth as it seduced her in a blaze of sensuality.

Their hearts were pounding together as one they ended their kiss.

"Fi, I've missed this," he stated sincerely, "seeing you…touching you…"

A teasing smile hovered over Fi.

"_Really_, Michael… you want to say those words here? In a place just like _this_?"

"Not the most romantic place, I agree, "said Michael, "but I would desire you anywhere, Fi..."

Michael's gaze then returned to her face as he touched her lips with two of his fingers, where he had just possessed them. She began to quiver, even after he lowered his hand. He looked... so handsome.

Michael's thumb brushed the tip of her chin, enticing her. She felt her heart skip a beat as she felt a gentle touch at the edge of her jaw. The longing for another kiss swept over her.

He leaned in again. His searching kisses became deeper and more aggressive as Fiona responded. Michael once again pulled her against the solid contours of his body. The supple power of his body surrounded her as Fi's entire body relaxed. More kisses followed, one beginning before another one had quite finished. The intimate caresses carried yearnings of promised pleasures.

Slowly his mouth withdrew from hers, leaving it warm and kiss-softened. He watched her intently, relishing the feel of her in his arms again. Fi felt desired and secured in his embrace-she didn't want him to let go.

She felt she would never be free of Michael Westen.

That last thought hit Fiona with a shock of realization. She experienced a bittersweet sensation, an ache that had less to do with the body than the spirit.

Her heart felt heavy as the thought crushed out any hope of future happiness. She would always want Michael but he could never be totally free to love her because there would always be the next job.

She had these thoughts before, but now she realized it would be a _lifetime_ of wishing for the unattainable. He would be there, and then not. And then he would be there, and then maybe, one day, he would not be there...ever again.

At the end of it all, she would be left with a broken heart.

She blinked quickly at the continual hopelessness of the situation. There was the sting of a tear at the corner of her eye as she tasted the salt at the back of her throat. She tried to swallow it back as the droplet fell from the outside corner of her eye, down to her cheek.

She hoped that Michael would not notice.

A frown appeared on Michael's face as he reached up to touch the watery substance on Fi's cheek. He rubbed the smudge of wetness between his two fingers in astonishment, as if it was something that should never appear on a human's cheek. He looked at her with a look of concern.

"Fi…" Michael looked down at his finger and then up at her tenderly, "Are you all right? Did I say or do something wrong? Tell me, _please_."

Fi could only turn away and shake her head.

She had already told him at the beach she understood that she would always be second. So how could she tell him now that she didn't want this lifetime of desperate yearnings? That they had no future?

She looked back at him with a strained smile.

"I'm fine, Michael," she assured him, "Really… it's probably allergies."

Sounds from outside interrupted the intimate moment in the room. They heard the sound of muffled talking and a vehicle door opening…

The noises brought Michael and Fi back to the reason why they were here.

"Michael," Fi said, after taking a deep breath, "something is happening outside."

She almost sounded back to normal. Michael looked down at his slightly moist finger as his mind vacillated. He looked back at Fiona questionably.

"Fiona-" he began.

Fi nudged her head towards the window.

"It's okay, Michael," she assured him, "We have a job to complete, first."

He tried to read her expression, but it seemed opaque now, the inviting warmth in her eyes gone. She was the first to get up to look out the window. Michael reluctantly followed.

Outside they saw Tom Turner reaching in to retrieve something from the cab of the red truck.

It was time to face the bank robber at last.

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_Please review._


	21. Chapter 21

Sam and Maddie have to fend for themselves.

Chapter 21

"…Alright, Mikey, just be careful," Maddie heard Sam say before he shut off his cell phone.

Sam and Madeline were playing a nice game of gin rummy when the game had been interrupted by Michael's cell phone call. They were still situated at the Gables Inn Motel, although Michael had informed them that he wanted the four of them to move again, this time to a nice _hotel_ with an "h", preferably a five-star one.

"Mikey and Fi won't be back tonight. Seems they've located the red truck at this flea-bag motel and will be staying over there, " Sam explained to Madeline, as he once again picked up his hand of cards.

"Oh, _…_so they are holed up in a motel together _because of a case_…_sure_, _sure_," stated Madeline sarcastically, as she took her turn and threw out a card.

"You don't know your son very well, Maddie," declared Sam, as he took a card from the stack, glanced at it, and tossed it out, "For Mike, it is all about the case."

"And you don't know _love_ very well. Sam," said Madeline, picking up his card, "…_or_ how to play rummy very well, either…because…_Gin!_"

She displayed her winning hand with a satisfied look as Sam threw his cards in.

"Maybe it's for the best, Maddie," said Sam, "I'm getting hungry anyway."

"Don't worry," said Madeline, proud of herself, ""While you were taking a shower, I ordered pizza delivery for us!"

He looked concern, which wasn't the reaction she expected.

"Uh…Maddie…you didn't, by chance, use your _credit card,_ did you?"

"I'm not an idiot, Sam!" insisted Madeline, "I used Michael's!"

"W-what? That's not what I'd meant, Maddie! It's dangerous to use a credit card because it'll show a record of-"

There was suddenly the sound of wood splintering, as the cheap motel door broke apart under the constant battering.

Sam automatically jumped up and used his body to completely shield a confused Madeline.

A large hand reached through the broken wood and unlocked the door. Fred the bartender stormed in—a baseball bat held possessively in his hands.

When he spotted Sam in the room, a look of stunned surprise surfaced on his face. He recognized Sam, who had claimed to be an A T and T agent back at Dewey's Bar.

"You!" he pointed accusingly at Sam with his finger, "YOU!"

"Quite an extensive vocabulary you have there, I see," Sam said evenly.

At first Fred didn't know how to react to the comment. Then as the words sunk in, his face showed frustration at the wisecrack.

"God damn it! Give me the picture, or else! "He threatened.

To show he meant business, he turned and viciously smashed one of the motel lamps with his baseball bat. The inexpensive lamp shattered to pieces on impact.

Madeline peeked out sideways from Sam's body, in time to see the damage.

"Ooooh, the poor _lamp_!, I bet the _chair _is now shaking with fear!" Maddie stated scornfully. Sam looked down in order to hide his grin.

Fred's eyes popped out as he furiously waved the bat in her direction.

"I swear, the old broad will get it first!" Fred said heatedly, pointing at her with his bat.

"Don''t you _old broad_ me, or Sam will show you who's boss!" Madeline fired back, "Right, Sam?"

"Yeah, that's right!" nodded Sam, "...or if not boss, at least I'll show him _assistant _to the boss!"

Fred started towards them.

"You two are already DEAD!" Fred almost spitted out the words, as he held the basebat bat up in a threatening manner.

"All I can say, buddy, is I hope you've brought your 'A' game!" Sam challenged, with no fear in his voice.

Sam hated it when thugs underestimated him. Sure, Sam may_ look_ like he sat all day drinking beer, but…oh.

No…actually he had been a highly decorated Navy SEAL operator in his day. He had extensive background in all methods of dealing with the enemy.

Sam turned around to warn Madeline to back away. He then boldly faced Fred, who had started to charge him.

"Yee-hawww!" Fred gave a war cry, and ran towards Sam, his bat held up in the air.

Just as Fred reached him, Sam quickly stepped to his side, like a winning matador going up against a drunken bull. Sam then followed up with a solid kick to the guy's behind, startling him. The sudden manuever sent Fred flying towards the wall, smashing his nose in the process.

Fred held his nose delicately as he attempted to catch his breath.

"Sam," Maddie was heard to say, "the guy didn't bring his 'A' game... he just brought 'a game'!"

This further angered Fred as he turned around and came charging again, the bat held dangerously over his head once more.

Sam again merely stepped aside. One second Sam was in one spot and then a split second later, he was a foot and a half to the left.

Before the momentum of the rush carried Fred too far away, Sam reached over and gave a karate chop to the back of the guy's neck. From his Navy SEAL days, Sam knew that hitting at the right spot in back of the neck could cause a temporary blackout. Fred looked woozy as he fell to his knees.

Fred groaned and and rubbed the back of his neck. Then he used his bat to aid him back on his feet. He shook his head vigorously and staggered in rage towards Sam.

This wasn't even a challenge as Sam delivered a hard punch in the stomach of a befuddled Fred. The air whooshed out of Fred and he went down again. But this time he stayed down.

From the floor, Fred grabbed his stomach in pain, moaning. His breathing changed into a wheeze from the damaged nose.

Sam bent down to the injured figure on the floor.

"Say, Buddy, I think it would be in your best interest to tell us the location and date of your next bank robbery," Sam stated to the agonized figure on the ground.

"Owww..._Get the eff out of my face_!" the man yelled in pain.

Madeline came over and peered down at Fred. She now had possession of Fred's fallen bat.

Sam looked at Maddie.

"Did you hear his response, Maddie?" Sam asked, "after I asked him so nicely?"

Maddie tsked, tsked, "He really is quite rude, isn't he?

"_Both of you can go to hell!_" Fred was in so much pain, he just didn't care anymore.

"I think I should squash him with this baseball bat!" Maddie exclaimed.

Hovering over him, Maddie held the bat high above her head, ready to strike. This startled both men.

"Maddie-" warned Sam.

Fred's eyes opened wide in terror as the bat started to make its way down.

"_Noooooo_!" screamed Fred.

"_Maddie, don't do it_!" bellowed Sam, at the same time.

Fred used his arms as a shield and closed his eyes, waiting for the deadly impact. Maddie brought the bat down, full force.

**BAM!**

"_You're dead now!_"

Because his eyes were closed, Fred only heard Maddie's statement.

_Am I really dead? _Fred silently internalized, as he kept his eyes shut.

"Wowza, Maddie, you've struck him so hard that his body exploded!" Sam's voice sounded so distant.

_Je-sus, is this what death felt like?_ Fred thought to himself. _At least I don't feel any new, throbbing pain. No_ feelings from a hot, fiery infernal, either. _Maybe I've gone to heaven! Am I now an angel? If so, maybe I can fly... _

He stuck out his arms and flapped them up and down.

"Will you look at that, Maddie! He thinks he's a bird!" He heard Sam comment.

"Yeah, a cuckoo bird!" said Maddie.

Fred opened his eyes.

They were not even looking at him, but instead at something directly next to him.

Fred angled his head to the spot they were staring at. A black blotch was smashed next to him. Evidently, Maddie had used the bat to kill a spider close by. Fred breath a sigh of relief, before anger regarding his situation settled in again.

"Stupid old bitty!" Fred mumbled.

"_What did you say_?" Maddie reached down and twisted the guy's already injured nose. Very hard. The man's eye's bulged out.

"OOOoww! Let go! Let go!"

"Maddie!" Sam chastised.

"Oh, don't worry, Sam, I did this all the time to my boys growing up," Maddie explained, "how do you think I was able to extricate the _rea_l truth from them?"

Sam bent down to Fred's level.

"So keep that in mind, my friend," warned Sam, "You might want to start using your voice box to give us some info here. My gal pal here isn't as friendly as me. This here is good cop, _mad mom_..."

Fred just kept making agonized noises.

"Sam asked you which bank..._so which bank_?" asked Maddie aggresively, as she twisted harder with no mercy. Fred cried out in torment.

"Yeoooowww, owwww!...Bank…Bank…of…Miami…" the man barely got the words out, his face a pale white. She loosened her grip, slightly.

"When?" asked Sam.

Fred bellowed in pain as Maddie applied pressure again.

"Yeoooooooooooow!"

"**Hey**!" yelled Madeline, looking down at Fred, "Answer him _when_, or **I will twist your nose right off**!"

The man's eyes bugged out further as his look of fear was palpable.

Maddie looked over as Sam questionably mouthed, _'twist your nose right off?_' to her.

"Believe me, Sam," explained Maddie, "if that statement can scare boys, it can scare men!"

From the ground Fred was fighting through the intense pain.

"I…don't…know…Turner…didn't…" and then he was back to moaning in pain.

Maddie reluctantly let go of the guy's nose.

"He's all talked out." Maddie sounded disappointed.

Sam spoke to a suffering Fred, "Okay, buddy... with what little nose you have left...breathe in, breathe out..."

Fred tried to get up, but then collapsed in pain, half the time holding onto his abdomen, the other half holding onto his nose.

Sam stood up, next to Maddie.

"By the way, Sam," added Maddie, "When I first hid behind you, I'd noticed you had a gun on you. Why didn't you use it on the guy to begin with?"

Sam grinned back at her. "And what, Maddie, would be the fun of_ that_?"

They could hear sirens in the background. Obviously, someone hearing the commotion had called the police.

"Come on, Maddie," said Sam, "let's quickly pay for our damages and leave. Michael was right. We need to move up to a better room."

Maddie nodded. "Five-star hotel… here we come!"

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_Please review._


	22. Chapter 22

Michael and Fiona are in it together.

Chapter 22

Michael and Fiona watched outside as Turner, the bank robber, reached into the front cab of the red truck to retrieve his sunglasses and a fisherman's hat. Then he went back into his room. Now Michael and Fiona knew which room the bank robber was staying in.

During this time, Michael's phone had vibrated and he was able to ascertain from Sam which bank the robbery was to occur. Their only question now was when it would take place, which was a very large question mark, indeed.

"Well," reasoned Fiona, as she continued looking out the window, "Their room is occupied, so I think the next step is to plant a listening device in their red truck." She turned and looked mischievously at him, "So…should we _flip_ for the honor?"

Knowing Fi, "flip" did not mean flipping a coin.

"I'll let you do the honors, Fi," Michael conceded, "I'll play the lookout. I think breaking- in is more your forte."

"If you insist," Fi agreed, "although I don't understand why I get to do all the fun stuff!"

They walked across the way towards the red truck, looking very much like a couple taking a casual stroll. No one was around as Michael stood up and leaned against the truck, basically covering a crouched Fiona.

He casually folded his arms and looked as if he was just taking in the view of the tacky surroundings, while Fiona stooped and worked with her tools, breaking the lock of the truck's door.

It did not take her long.

A spy needs to do the job and leave quickly. Never stand out.

"_Oh! Mr. Franco! Mr. Franco_!" Trudy, the motel clerk, was running towards them. Her body was a wobbly mess, as she waved a piece of paper over her head.

Of course, if you are a celebrity—even a faux one—you will _always_ stand out.

Alarms went off in Michael's head as panic set in. He put his finger to his lips in order to shush her, but Trudy was too excited to get the message.

Trudy rushed up to Michael and excitedly rambled on about how her sister back in Texas insisted that Trudy get an autograph from James Franco. It would be a huge favor to her, Trudy coyly requested, if he would just sign…

Michael reluctantly took the paper she had in her hand and quickly scribbled something, and handed it back to her with a forced smile.

Trudy eagerly glanced at what Michael had written:

_ Your life is in danger. _Leave NOW.__

_J. Franco_

Then she reread the warning words, finally absorbing the meaning of the words.

"Oooh, is this a movie quote? How very creative of you!" She clapped her hands gleefully.

Michael was furtively shaking his head, trying not to be obvious.

"Don't tell me...don't tell me," she placed the paper on her forehead and closed her eyes, pretending she was a psychic, "the quote was from an _action_ movie, right?" She opened her eyes, smiling, " Are those lines from the _Spiderman_ movie?"

Spies must think fast on their feet.

"Uh...sure..."

"Oh, _please_, Mr. Franco, could you recite the lines _now_? You _know_ I am your biggest fan!"

Spies and actors are alike in that sooner or later they must take on a role, whether they go undercover in front of a foreign enemy or undercover in front of a fan.

Whereas spies memorize files, actors memorize lines. Being good at one doesn't necessarily mean you're good at the other.

"Uh...Your-life-is-in-danger-leave-now," quoted Michael, sounding a bit robotic.

However, it is the actors who get the accolades.

"Oh, Mr. Franco, you've sent shivers down my spine!"

Trudy had been so involved with Michael, that she didn't even noticed Fi crouched nearby, until Fi stood up. Trudy did not look pleased with Fi's presence.

"Hey! What were you doing down there?" Trudy suspiciously asked Fi in a totally different tone. Trudy impatiently placed both hands on her waist.

"I told you, I'm looking this truck over for a possibility of using it in Mr. Franco's next movie," Fi explained.

"—and I told _you_, our patrons demand complete privacy." Trudy scowled, obviously not liking Fi.

Trudy obviously was not ready to leave. But she needed to be removed from danger ASAP and it was up to Michael. He placed his hand on Trudy's arm, which, he noted, felt as soft as jello.

"Trudy, you'll have to excuse my assistant," pleaded Michael. Trudy looked down at Michael's hand on her arm and squealed. She gave him an adoring look as he spoke, "She's forever dedicated to serving me."

Fiona rolled her eyes at the phrase "serving me."

Trudy beamed once more at Michael.

"I could see why," Trudy nodded,"I would gladly do _anything_ for you, too! _Anything!_ Wait until Tricia hears that I have been touched by James Franco!"

"I'm flattered," said Michael, quickly, "So, why don't you go _now_ and tell your sister about all of this?" He ended it with a "special" wink.

"Ooooo!" Trudy swooned as she fanned the paper in front of her, "I feel like fainting!"

"If you feel like fainting," suggested Fi, "I think _your office_ would be a perfect place to do it."

Fi could not break Trudy's happy mood as Trudy scurried away, waving the autographed paper in the air.

Hoping Turner and company did not hear any of the interaction, Michael and Fi started walking away.

"It seems I can make a woman shiver with excitement." Michael teasingly whispered to Fi.

"You mean _James Franco _can make a woman shiver with excitement, " corrected Fi quietly, "You, on the other hand-"

They heard the sounds of cocked weapons as the atmosphere suddenly turned serious. The all-too- familiar dreaded sound stopped them in their tracks.

They turned around slowly.

The window of Turner's motel room was opened as Tom Turner and Macho man had their weapons aimed at Michael and Fi.

"**Get in this room right now, or I'll blow your friggin' heads off right now, where you two stand**," Tom Turner warned in a low tone.

Michael and Fi exchanged glances as they unwillingly walked towards Turner's room.

Turner's room door seemed to mysteriously open on its own as Michael and Fi stepped into the motel room.

Turner's room was a mirror image of Michael and Fi's room, except along with the color-combo gaudiness, wrinkled clothes and beer cans were scattered all about, along with some porn videos on the table, thus upping the sleaze factor twofold.

Turner eyed the two visitors thoroughly. He had heard what had happened with Fred and the beer gut guy, and he knew not to underestimate these two.

Turner, who was obviously the boss, turned to talk to Macho man.

"Keep your gun pointed on the babe—that should keep them in line. Don't be afraid to blow their heads off if they make a move," Turner added, "I'm going to search them for guns—especially the bimbo here." He eyed Fiona seductively. Fiona didn't wince.

Michael was tempted to make a move, but both weapons trained on them were already cocked. Even with his quickness, he would not be able to disarm them before one of them would shoot Fiona, and he knew Fiona was thinking the same thing about him.

He would have to wait it out until an opportunity presented itself.

"Let her go," Michael growled as Turner forcibly patted him down for weapons, "She is not involved in this. You don't need her."

"Let her go? Damn! She's the one I _need_!" Macho man maliciously replied, "remember me, sweet thing? You don't look so tough now without your silencer, do you?...but damn, you sure are mighty fine!"

He rammed the gun at her right cheek and then roughly felt Fiona for weapons, making sure to go over her breast area.

Fiona looked unfazed, but she had that same determined look just before she would detonate a bomb.

Michael was ready to kill Macho man with his bare hands. Michael made a slight movement before Fiona looked at him sharply, stopping any foolhardy plans he may have come up with.

"Oh! She feels good, real good," sneered Muscle man to Turner, "this is one hot tail!"

Fiona's whole body stiffened, but she kept her anger intact.

When a spy is in trouble, well…a spy is in trouble.

Turner also eyed Fiona with lust.

"It's been awhile and I think I may just be interested in some company myself!" he admitted, liking what he saw.

Tom Turner then reached out to grab Fiona. Surprisingly she did not resist as his arm forcibly pulled her stumbling body towards him. He held her in a chokehold and rammed the gun in her ribs. He disgustedly used his tongue and, licked her cheek while Macho man laughed. He then ran his gun hand down the curves of her body, ending with roughly feeling the front of Fi's private area.

Fi did not react to the slimy touch, as she watched the other gun aimed at Michael. Her eyes were expressionless as she then stared straight ahead, but Michael detected that there was a slight twitch in the bottom corner of her mouth.

This was the closest to fear on Fi's face that Michael had ever witnessed.

An ugly chuckle came from Macho man as he now turned to Michael with the repulsive comment of, "After we dispose of you, you won't mind that we take turns with her, do you?"

Michael did not answer. He was thinking that his mom was right after all.

These guys were dead meat.

.

.

_I hope you will take the time to review this chapter!_


	23. Chapter 23

It's time to act.

Chapter 23

With cocked guns pointed directly at Michael and Fi, Turner and Macho man held them captive in the motel room. Michael had been tempted to make a move, but even his best moves may not be fast enough.

It would be too big of a risk. If he took action, one or both of these goons would have enough time to shoot Fi. And if they shot and killed him first, well, he didn't want to think about what they would do with her. He would have to wait and watch. It would be best to keep them talking.

Turner had turned his attention to Michael. He shoved a gun in his stomach while Macho man held his gun on Fiona.

"Who _the goddamn hell_ do you think you are to interfere with _my_ business?" Turner demanded.

"You've started this by going after my mother," answered Michael.

"But we are here because _you_ went after _us_," pointed out Turner.

"Let's call it even, then. We give you back the photo and you leave us alone." Michael suggested.

Turner shook his head. "Can't do that. It's too late. Both of you know too much."

Then without warning, Turner formed a fist and rammed it in Michael's stomach.

"Ooomph!"

Turner followed it up with another hard punch in the same spot. Michael fell to his knees. Turner gave a swift kick to his stomach. Then another. Michael felt nausea entering his head as he fell to the ground.

In a haze, he observed Fiona. Her eyes blazed with anger. She clenched her fists as she willed her body not to make a move. Fi had already sized up the situation and made the same determination that Michael had previously. There was nothing she could do to help without risking both their lives.

For now.

Turner man next stomped on Michael's leg, bringing instant pain. It felt like a ton of bricks had fallen on his leg.

We haven't forgotten what you had done to Hector," Tom Turner callously added. Hector was probably the recently deceased "Toad man".

"Hey, Turner, let me have a turn with this guy, too!" insisted Macho man.

The two thugs traded positions as Macho man trampled on Michael's arm like he was putting out a fire. Michael's body jerked up with each stomp from the strong man.

The beatings continued. Stomach. Legs. Arms. Michael felt like he was going to vomit.

Macho man changed up by suddenly delivering a powerful kick to Michael's side.

"And that's for your stupid ass friend pulling a gun on me!" Macho man said angrily.

Michael curled into a fetal position in an attempt to protect himself. He needed to try and ride it out. The thought of preventing Fi from being violated gave him the will to endure the sufferings.

Luckily the pummelings were done so quickly; it would not cause permanent damage. But still, it was painful, extremely painful, Michael thought as he grunted at another kick, this time to his kidney.

"I say we just waste him now and take our time with the babe!" suggested Macho man.

"That would be too good for them," analyzed Turner, "they need to _suffer_ for the trouble they've caused."

Turner bent down and whispered maliciously in Michael's ear, "And after we dump your body and have our way with your girl, we're going after your mother."

He then nodded his head at Macho man, signalling for the torment to continue.

Macho man uncocked his gun and placed it in his waist so he could continue taking out his aggressions on Michael. There was another hard kick to his kidney and Michael moaned again in pain.. His body was aching, but his mind registered that Macho man's gun was now out of play.

In his weakened state, Michael glanced up at Fi. She stood with pursed lips, like a brave soldier.

Their eyes met. Michael was able to convey with his eyes that they now only had one gun to worry about. A spark flashed in Fi's eyes before it quickly vanished.

It was almost time to act.

"Okay…okay…stop..._please_...I'll tell you where the photo is…" Michael breathed in sharply, trying to get some more air. The kicking had stopped, but pain throbbed throughout his body.

He would play the part of the decoy.

"It's hidden.. at my place (gasp)...it's underneath the...(owww)" began Michael, still holding on to his stomach and groaning. He wasn't faking that part.

"Damn it! Keep talking!" Turner encouraged the talk by kicking Michael's much stomped-upon leg.

The two thugs leaned in, engrossed with what Michael had to say next. Although Turner had his gun pointed at Michael, Macho man's gun was still in his waistband. Good, good.

A weaponless spy know it is dangerous when going against opponents with two guns. However, it becomes dangerous for the _opponents_ if they are down to one gun and facing a weapon known as Fiona Glenanne.

Before Michael could say another word, Fi attacked with a fury.

With a speed that cameras would be unable to capture, she brought her leg up and around for a high, fast kick to Turner's hand, dislodging the handgun. It flew out of his hands and skidded across the room.

Then she grabbed hold of Turner's hand, twisted it and pulled it down, in a Hapkido-style move. Something cracked. Turner bent over slightly and yelped at the unexpected pain.

Fi next grabbed his head in both her hands, brought his head down further and threw her knee to his face. He felt a sudden, sharp pain in his head as his vision saw white flashes.

Meanwhile, from the ground, Michael managed to sweep his arm across the floor, bringing Macho man down, the gun landing on the ground with a clunk. As Macho man attempted to recover from the quick fall, Michael was able to get on his knees and deliver a powerful punch to the guy's six-pack abs.

Yeow. Michael held onto his own fist in pain after the blow. Macho man was built as solid as a concrete wall. Nevertheless, Macho man definitely felt the blow as he groaned.

Michael's arm moved as fast as a piston as it shot out and landed squarely once more in Macho man's middle. The big guy made an agonized sound. Michael brought his fist back again, while at the same time, Fiona managed to retrieve a fallen handgun from the floor.

She wasted no time in pointing the gun at Turner's head.

BANG**!**

A loud explosion erupted, interrupting Michael's fight.

The sound had been deafening. The bullet hit midway, as Turner's head split like a coconut. Blood and brain parts spilled everywhere. With major parts of his skull gone, his still- intact body sunk down to the ground.

The other guy, Macho man, had witnessed the hit. He immediately flipped over on his stomach, with his hands positioned behind his head. He was laid out in a surrender position on the ground. Only his head was up as he sorrowfully looked up at Fi. Michael painfully pulled himself up as he heard the man beg in anguish.

"Please," he gasped, pleading for his life, "I d-d-didn't mean any of it! I surrender, Lady…"

Michael knew Fiona was unpredictable.

"Fi, you don't need to do this!"

Michael saw that Fi had a determined look in her eyes as she pointed the gun at Macho man. He had no choice but to reach for the gun in Fi's hand to stop her. But in his weakened state, Michael could not overpower Fi as they struggled with the gun.

"Michael! Stop it! _Let me take the shot!_" Fi yelled.

"Let go, Fi!" Michael said as they rocked back and forth with the gun.

He ventured a look at Fi's face as they grappled for possession of the gun. It was an expression he had never seen from her. It was a look of pure one hundred percent vengeful anger.

"**Mi-_chael!"_** Fi bellowed, as the fight for ownership of the weapon persisted.

_"Fi, I can't let you do this!"_

Meanwhile from the ground, Macho man was holding onto his broken ankle, groaning in pain. He watched as the pair struggled, ignoring him. With his arms, he pushed his body in an effort to escape. Despite the pounding pain, he managed to distance himself away from the wrestling duo.

The tussle continued.

"_Michael!_" Fi repeated as tears of frustration surfaced, _"You saw what happened! They put their filthy hands all over me! You and I know what would've happened next. **They were going to have their way with me!**"_

Fi, oh Fi.

But he could not let her take the shot.

Michael unexpectedly latched his leg under hers and with a quick flick, unbalanced Fi. Gasping in surprise, she crashed down on her behind with a thud on the floor. As she fell, she had lost her grip on the weapon. It ended in Michael's hand.

"_Dammit, Michael!_" A disheartened Fi cussed under her breath at the missed opportunity.

Macho man slowly but determinedly continued dragging his body towards the door of the motel. He was almost there.

Wordlessly, Michael walked up to the creeping figure, stood steadfastly, aimed and fired.

_**BANG!**_

Michael did not turn away as the powerful gunshot sound roared in his ears.

Macho man's head was demolished in a spray of red mist. Some of the crimson liquid sprayed up, spattering on Michael's pants, giving it a blood-colored tie- dyed look.

"_Mi-chael!_" Fi yelled from the center of the room.

She came over and stood over his bloodied handiwork. She looked at him, flabbergasted, realizing that this was the first time Michael had killed someone point- blank since he had returned to Miami.

"No–one- threatens-to-do- that- to- you-and-lives." Michael's monotone voice sounded dead but certain.

She could not love him more than she did now.

There was the sound of jangled keys as the door of the motel burst opened.

Trudy stumbled onto the scene, a crowbar in her hand. She entered with an angry face pasted on, but it changed to one of total shock at the sight of the gruesome scene.

_"My God! God! God! What happened?_" she asked, as the crowbar dropped from her hand. The other hand flew up to her chest.

"Vicious stalker fans," Fi stated in a calm voice, already recovered, "Mr. Franco gets them all the time."

Trudy turned to watch Michael's reaction, a paralyzed look still on her face.

"Is this true, Mr. Franco? _All the time_?" Trudy asked, still not quite believing what she was seeing.

"It's the worst part of being a celebrity," Michael replied weakly.

He began to feel light-headed. The adrenaline rush had helped to mask any serious pain he had been feeling. It had also managed to drain any reserved energy from him.

The room seemed to spin. Nausea and dizziness overcame an injured Michael as he collapsed on the floor.

.

_._

_Two more chapters to go!_

_(I'm nervous because of all the wonderful reviews from last chapter-hope I didn't disappoint with this chapter!)_

**_Please review_**


	24. Chapter 24

Michael and Fi share a connection.

Chapter 24

Nestled in the pulse of South Beach, The five-star Fountainbleau Hotel flaunted beachfront elegance with Art Deco hip. The color palette consists of a turquoise tropical pattern set against light oak wood, creating a sophisticated, laidback Miami Beach look. Tastefully furnished, the room featured a balcony with magnificent views of the ocean.

But Michael Westen was not aware of the luxurious accomodations.

Although it was daylight, he was asleep on the plush pillow-top mattress, his body covered lightly with two silk sheets.

Michael was on the mend. His main torso had been painstakingly wrapped, along with his arm and leg. He was recovering from the beatings he had received yesterday. Madeline had given him a sleeping pill, forcing him to sleep in the middle of the day. Otherwise, he would insist that he was fine and go on to his next case.

Madeline, Sam and Fi surrounded the bed, watching his soft breathing.

"Well, Michael was right to insist on staying in a nice hotel," commented Fi, "this is a _slight_ step up from the rat-hole motels and dive bars we've experienced."

"A _slight_ step up? This place is magnificent!" corrected Maddie, "What a grand waterfront view! You can almost smell the fresh ocean breeze!"

"You've said it, Maddie! And speaking of scents" said Sam, "I must say, Fi, you smell wonderful today!"

Fi was taken aback. Then she looked suspiciously sideways at him as she responded with a tentative, "Thanks, Sam."

"Your essence is so original," continued Sam as he made a point of taking another whiff, "it's like an inspired scent combination of floral body powder mixed with a subtle hint of sensual _gun powder_."

"Oh, Sam," Fi smoothly responded, "Sam. Sam. Sam. If I could use that gun powder now, you would be the very first person I'd shoot."

"_The very first_?" countered Sam, "So wouldn't that make me... _a leader_?"

"Shush, you two! You'll wake up Michael!," Madeline whispered in a vexed manner. She tenderly reached out to brush a stray hair from his forehead.

Sam and Fiona exchanged "_yeah_! _so-stop-it_" looks before each attempted to look contrite.

Madeline had a concerned expression as she watched Michael. She had the same look that mothers everywhere have when their little boys were sick with fever. Except here, her grown-up son had been battered at gunpoint by a couple of thugs. Dead thugs, at least, she thought with satisfaction.

"Perhaps Mikey does need some peace and quiet," agreed Sam, lowering his tone, "the three of us should sneak downstairs to enjoy the amenities they offer."

Downstairs?" Fi repeated, a bit distracted as she observed Michael, "What place downstairs?"

Sam looked exasperated.

_"Did we just meet?_ You can't figure which place I would want to drop in?" he asked, before adding sarcastically, "okay, let's see...What business establishment downstairs in a plush hotel could I be referring to? ...hmmm...Could it be an amusement park? No... Could it be a fire station? No. Although, speaking of fire stations... did you know, among certain ladies, I'm actually known as Sam the Studly Fireman? The reason being, I set their hearts on fire!"

Both women tried not to roll their eyes.

"Is that before or after you show them your small hose?" questioned Fi.

"Actually, Sam,...don't firemen put _out_ fires?" stated Madeline, "so basically aren't you saying that you _extinguish _their hearts on fire?"

"Et tu, Maddie? Ooo-_kay_, I see I'm working a tough crowd here. Let's change subjects here. In case you haven't figured it out, the place I am referring to is the hotel bar downstairs."

Sam looked at the two women, wistfully hoping they would join him.

At The Fountainbleau Bar, clients could enjoy fine drinks amidst its rich textures and hues. The place was world- renown for its selection of fine wines and alcoholic beverages. The classy ambiance included a glass enclosed wine tower and brilliant chandeliers made of hand-blown glass. The two level chic bar had a full oceanside view.

Madeline looked down at the outfit she was wearing.

"I don't think I'm dressed- up enough for that expensive bar, Sam."

Sam indicated his Hawaiian shirt.

"And what am I, dressed for a presidential debate? Come _on_, you look fine! It'll be _my_ treat for the two of you!"

"Count me in, then!" Maddie agreed.

But Fi shook her head.

"I think I'll stay and watch over Michael." Fi stated the fact quietly.

Madeline understood completely.

"Let's go, Sam" Madeline gestured towards the doors. She leaned over to Sam and spoke in an almost secret whisper, "We'll let Fi have some private time with Michael... _Are you picking up what I am putting down_?"

"Sure," Sam replied.

"We should go _now_, Sam. Right this second. Are you _sure_ you've picked up what I've put down?"

"Uh-huh."

"Only two people should be here. And those two are not us."

"I've picked it up already, Maddie..."

Sam took his time getting up.

"Well, perhaps you need to pick it up faster!" insisted Maddie.

"I've got it, Maddie. Got it. _Got it!_ You've put it _all the way_ down there, and whaddaya know, _I've picked it up_!"

"Then, Sam..."

"In fact, Maddie, it's been picked up_ and _placed on the table already!"

Sam was on his feet now.

"Sam, in that same amount of time, I could have picked it, put it on the table and _still_ had enough time to fling it back to you!"

She was physically pushing him out the opened door at this point.

Sam's voice echoed in the hallway.

"_Maddie, when did you start speaking gibberish_?"

The door closed behind her. Fiona was alone with her thoughts as she watched the slumbering form on the bed.

She watched Michael sleeping for half an hour, never taking her eyes off of him. Fi tilted her head, thinking he looked totally at peace with himself, certainly a rare expression for him.

He stirred and resettled his face against the pillow, his breathing resuming its deep rhythm. He really did look like an innocent little boy. She smiled to herself, thinking how much her life was entwined with his.

Whenever she thought about their relationship, she seemed only to focus on the idea that she might lose him someday. She had been thinking so much about the future, she had forgotten to enjoy what they had now.

Her gaze moved over the outline of his body, now snugly swaddled in the silken sheets. Lightly she ran her fingers along the contours of his sleeping body, feeling the hardness and strength of it. Michael murmured in his sleep, and the bedcovers softly rustled as he changed positions.

As he slept, she noted his expression had changed. A faraway smile had appeared on his lips. Whatever images were in his mind, it made him happy.

And Fiona was right; Michael Westen _was_ having a wonderful dream.

.

_Michael and Fi were dreamily enjoying an intimate moment of time in bed. Facing one another, Michael reached out and touched a lock of her long luscious hair that streamed across the pillow. _

_There was an intensity, a look of hunger, in his eyes. He now uplifted himself on one elbow._

_A myriad of emotions passed between them. She felt the heat of his fingertips brush the side of her face as his palm caressed against her cheek._

_"I love you, Fi," he admitted, as a stunned Fiona listened to his words, "It scares me to say that. I've always thought loving someone was a weakness, but I now see that when I am with you, I am even stronger_."

_He reached over and cupped her head adoringly in his hand as his mouth crushed hers with a sweet, raw need. Every inch of her body was suffused with heat. His tongue searched deeply, exploring with a rough tenderness that touched her to her very soul._

_She couldn't stop herself from responding, her arms locking around his hard, strong back, her heart thundering with love. When the kiss ended, they gazed at each other, clasped in stirring passion._

_"Fiona, you are with me now, and when you are away from me, you are still with me. Always."_

_._

Michael blinked as a shaft of sunlight moved across his eyes, rousing him from the depths of his sleep.

It had only been a dream.

He opened his eyes. Stretching, he slowly came out of his dreamlike state. Getting up on both his elbows, he stared at his surroundings, looking dazed.

Slowly his mind registered that he was in some expensive hotel room. His body felt heavy from the sleep and it still ached from the beatings.

He was also aware that someone was lying next to him in bed. He turned and saw Fi on her side, up on one elbow, giving him a flirtatious finger wave.

"Good afternoon, Sleepyhead, I'm glad you're back to reality," she said softly.

Michael recalled his dream and his forehead crinkled, as his eyes expressed puzzlement.

The bed in his dream was exactly like the one here in this hotel room. In and out of his dreamlike state, he had sensed Fi's presence. Everything else seemed blurry and unclear. His eyebrows came together as he tried to decipher what was real and what was not.

_When he admitted to Fi that he loved her, was that a dream or had he actually said the words?_

"Fi…did I…say…anything, uh, _unusual_, to you?"

Michael could swear Fi had an amused look on her.

"I'll never tell, Michael."

.

.

_One chapter to go! (sniff! sniff!)_

_Please review._


	25. Chapter 25

Who doesn't want a happy ending?

Chapter 25

**Two Days Later**

A coastal magnet for beautiful people, Miami offers endless sunshine, spectacular beaches and unrivaled nightlife.

Within this perfect oasis, the renovated patio of The Cantina encouraged tourists and locals alike to grab a cold beer while enjoying the balmy beach breeze.

That is exactly what Sam Axe was doing as he shared drinks and conversation with Madeline and Fiona as they waited for Michael's arrival.

It had been a grand adventure as they celebrated the end of the case.

"I don't understand why Michael is late," Madeline mentioned as she looked at her watch, "it's so not like him."

"Ah, nothing to worry about, Maddie, I'm sure he'll be here any second and then we can have another round of brewskis," Sam assured her.

"It's good that the two of you are here, because I wanted to thank both of you for helping me out," said Maddie.

"No need, Madeline," responded Fi, "we were glad to help. And you should feel proud of your contribution."

"Thank you, Fiona," said Madeline. She then turned to Sam. "And Sam, I must say, I did not realize how really good you were in fighting the bad guys. But, I'm sure you're sick of hearing that."

"Well, I don't know if _sick _is the right word..."

"Oh, Sam, " said Fi drolly, "Don't try and bowl us over with your quick wit. Oh, wait, I see that you didn't."

Sam opened his mouth to counter reply but quickly closed it as the waitress approached, carrying a beautifully gold- wrapped present with a bright red bow on top. Sam winked at the waitress who smiled in return. She placed the gift directly in front of Madeline who squealed in delight.

"Madeline, it seems we have a secret admirer here," teased Fiona.

Madeline could not help but grin as she curiously began unwrapping the gift.

With the last of the gold paper unwrapped, she lifted the lid of the box. All three leaned in to peer inside the box.

"Well, would you look at that!" Madeline said, placing her palm over the front of her throat in awe.

Cradled in a heap of tissue paper laid a beautiful honey-colored leather purse.

Madeline gently lifted the purse from the box and caressed the buttery-soft leather.

"It's exquisite, Madeline!" Fi exclaimed, "Now, read the card!"

Madeline tore open the envelope:

_Mom,_

_You're the best, so you deserve the best._

_Love,_

_Michael_

_p.s. This purse is not splattered with any gunshot residue._

As Madeline lovingly touched the purse, she felt a bump from inside the purse. Sam and Fi watched as Madeline delved inside the purse and pulled out a can of cream soup. A strip of paper had been taped to it. She read the numbers on the strip, a pleased look on her face.

"What is that paper, Maddie?" asked Sam, trying to look over.

"It's a receipt." Maddie announced, her voice cracking a bit.

A small sniffle could be heard from her.

"A receipt... for the purse?" asked a baffled Fi.

Maddie shook her head.

"It's proof that Michael bought the can of cream soup _on sale_," proclaimed Maddie, tears surfacing as she showed them the discounted papered evidence, "_I love my son so much_!"

Fi looked touched. Sam looked befuddled. Huh? Love? Tears? Over _soup_? He leaned over to Fi.

"Uh, Fi, what's up with the watery eyes from Maddie?"

"Sam, you're not the only reason why women cry, you know."

"Ha ha. Fi. No really, why?"

Fi looked at him exasperated, "Why do you think, Sam?"

Sam looked at Maddie, puzzled.

"Uh...cans of soup usually aren't on sale until Tuesday?"

Fi folded her arms and rolled her eyes. Frustratingly, she was not going to tell him.

"Insensitive boozer," Fiona whispered underneath her breath.

"Unstable bomber," Sam huffed back to her.

"Geez!" Madeline stepped in, "Ever wonder why you two don't have friends outside of each other?"

"**Never**!" they both answered at once.

Just then, Sam felt his cell phone vibrate. This was immediately followed by Fiona's phone also vibrating.

Sam was first to read his text from Michael:

_Sorry, Sam, something came up. Will not make it to Cantina. Apologies to everyone. M._

Fiona also scanned her text quickly:

_Fi, meet me at loft ASAP. P.S Don't show Sam this. Show him instead the next text I will send you. M_

"Well," said Sam, putting away his cell phone, "I don't think Mikey will be able to make it today. Fi, is that what he also said in your text too?"

Fi had just finished reading her text.

"W-What? Oh, yes…the same thing, of course," agreed Fi, as she started to fold up her cell phone, trying to hide her smile.

Sam had a doubtful look. "Really?" he questionably asked, "let me see."

Fi held her cell phone protectively next to her body, playing her part to the hilt.

"Maybe I don't want to show it to you, Sam," she said.

"So it _did _state something different," challenged Sam.

"I did not say that!" Fiona insisted.

"Oh, go on, Fiona, show it to him!" said Madeline, still holding on tightly to her new purse.

Fiona brought up the last text sent to her and showed it to Sam:

_Sorry, Fi, something came up. Will not make it to Cantina. Apologies to everyone. M._

"See?" said Fi, "Satisfied?"

"Okay," said a convinced Sam, "but I want it noted somewhere that he texted _me_ that message first."

"Duly noted," Fi nodded agreeably, "and now if you excuse me, I've got other things to do."

Fi almost jumped out of her seat as she went over to hug Madeline. Then surprisingly, as she past Sam, she reached down and put her arms around Sam in a big hug, too. Sam could not have looked more surprised.

"Uh, Fi, were you trying to strangle me, but reached too low?" asked Sam, still stunned over the gesture.

"Oh, Sam, I'm just so glad you're my friend!" Fi answered good-naturedly, as she walked away to secretly meet up with Michael.

"Did you hear that, Maddie? No parting words of insult!" wondered Sam, as he observed Fi departing, " _Look at her._ All bouncy-cheery with her steps. She's been so damn happy ever since that text. And then that "duly noted' comment. What was _that_ all about? Something must be up…" He rubbed his chin, suspiciously.

"Duly noted, Sam," Madeline asked, with a knowing grin on her face.

xxx

As Fiona approach the loft, her heart was beating fast with thoughts of seeing Michael. His place looked deserted from the outside, until she reached the exterior stairway.

Fi gasped when she looked down at the first step.

A perfect rose with crimson petals laid lovingly along the bottom step. She picked up the flower, the long stem carefully de-thorned. As she ascended the stairs, she found another on the third step, and another on the fifth and so on. Her gaze progressed upward, discovering a trail of red roses.

A smile filled her face. She wandered along the path of roses, in no particular hurry, as she added to her growing collection. The blossoms were exquisite and fragrant, the sweet smell teasing her senses.

The last rose had been tied to the knob of the decrepit green door of his loft. She retrieved the last one and feeling amused and curious, she opened the door and entered.

A small table laden with two silver dome-shaped covered plates and two candles in the shape of C-4 explosives had been setup in the center of his loft.

Her gaze traveled from the cozy lunch for two to the sight of Michael, looking dashing in a new suit, with a rose in his hand. She stared at him, stupefied.

"Michael…you did all this for me?" Fi asked.

Michael stepped forward and presented the last rose to her, making her bouquet an even dozen.

"You deserve true romance in your life, Fi, and I want to be the one to give it to you," he announced.

Fi slowly approached the table, softly touching the waxed faux C-4 candles, admiring the resemblance to the actual item.

"Michael, you _are_ a true romantic," she said appreciating the specially-made candles, as she looked back at him.

Michael smiled at Fi's interpretation of 'romantic.'

"So, Fiona, the question for today is: what will you have first…lunch…or me?"

Both knew the answer to that. Fiona gave him a coy look.

"It depends…" Fi teasingly replied, "What are we having for lunch?"

Michael played along. "What else?" he said in an obvious tone, "but the _divine_ chipped beef?"

He then leaned over and lifted the silver dome to reveal Madeline's specialty dish.

Fi smiled back.

The roses dropped to the floor in a rustling, sweetly aromatic heap as Fi wordlessly flew into Michael's embrace. They stood among the cascade of fragrant blossoms.

She tried to control the bursting excitement within her.

His body shuddered as his mouth then sought hers urgently, extracting sweet sensations. He heard her whimper as his hands began a slow, sojourn over her body, the heat of his palms leaving a trail of burning heat on her skin.

When the kiss ended, he gazed at her, suddenly filled with the feeling of completeness that he would never experience with anyone else.

"I don't want to lose you, Fi," he softly admitted to her.

"You won't, Michael," Fi promised, "and all I ask is that you don't bring the spy world into our personal lives."

Michael nodded.

"I can only tell you that I will try my best. I just know I can't live without you, Fi" he sincerely stated.

A smile appeared on Fi's face at the acknowledgement that he couldn't live without her.

"You won't ever have to," Fiona said. She reached up and kissed his cheek while her body went weak with overwhelming relief.

Michael trembled and his mouth found hers once again, almost bruising her lips in a kiss that seemed to last forever.

As the kiss continued, Michael swept her off her feet and carried her to the bed. Their anticipation heightened as their hearts beat with happiness.

...And meanwhile... outside of Michael's loft, the Cuban conga drums continued to play as the beat of Miami vibrated with energy. From all over, people come together to this sun-kissed land to celebrate in a place known for its perfect weather and tropical beaches.

For when the bright sun hits the sandy shores of Miami, _everything heats up_…including love.

.

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_I'm done, I'm done! And what a joyous journey it has been for me! The best part of all was meeting all the wonderful BN readers/reviewers. Thank you for taking the time to my 'little' story._

_I hope my story was able to convey all the love and respect I have for the BN characters. I've spent many, many hours trying to get it right. _

_A special thanks for "Team BN": Purdy's Pal, Amanda Hawthorn and i luv ewansmile. You're always there for me. Also my fanfic buds: mfnikki and gilraenstar. Thanks for making me smile. Thanks to coolaquariun, BurnedmichaelY, Vee Fall, Valeskathesilverwolf and airesrobin for your kind words. And finally, thanks for all the loyal anonymous reviewers. I'm throwing confetti at you!_

_BN readers are the best!_

**_Please let me know what you think for the last time!_**

_Also, be on the lookout for my next story, "A Twist of Nate"!_


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